A Private Dance
by storietella2
Summary: When one dance just isn't enough. Desperate not to get kicked out of college while in her senior year, Ana takes a job at an exclusive gentlemen's club and soon encounters a very rich, sexy, and mysterious man who can't leave her alone. Told from both Ana's and Christian's POV.
1. Chapter 1 - Desperation

**Chapter 1 – Desperation**

ANA

So far, my senior year doesn't suck.

 _Knock on wood._

My schedule this semester is loaded with four-hundred-level British literature courses, and I love every minute of it. Most of the works listed on the course rubrics are novels that I've already read at least twice, way before I even began WSU Vancouver.

I'm so glad that I got all of my gen ed courses over with.

From here on out, it's smooth sailing.

The only fly in the ointment is that I have to endure mundane evenings at Clayton's, a mom and pop hardware store located not too far off campus. Unlike my best friend and roommate Kate, who's actually working a paid internship in her field – _journalism_ , I feel like I'm wasting my time doing work that any fifteen-year-old high school student can do.

Unboxing inventory.

Price mark new product.

Stocking shelves.

Ringing up customers.

On second thought, Mr. Clayton's five-year-old nephew could do my job.

But the blessing in disguise is that not only am I earning a weekly paycheck, but Clayton's is also forking over scholarship money on my behalf. They are the reason why I'm able to afford to stay in school since Mom and Ray don't necessarily have the best money management skills.

And the Claytons are great, so it's very easy to work for them.  
It only gets awkward when Mr. Clayton's brother Paul shows up from Princeton.

Now _he's_ a dick.

Paul's a decent looking guy and all, but he can't help but throw his weight around. It's as if he's making up for a tiny penis. Then there's the constantly flirting. I know there are sexual harassment laws against this sort of behavior, but Clayton's is a very small business and Paul is the owner's brother. The good thing is that I don't normally have to put up with him for longer than a week or two before he's back off to New Jersey.

That aside, I'll truly miss the Claytons next year once I graduate and leave Vancouver – but I can't _wait_ to get a real job in my field. Until then, I guess I'll be mixing paint colors and restocking twine over in aisle eight.

"Ana?"

I look up and away from my task of rearranging small boxes of nails and follow the voice to find Mrs. Clayton standing before me. She looks heavyhearted, which is concerning.

 _Did I do something wrong?_

"Mrs. Clayton?"

"Hey there. Would you like to leave two hours early tonight?"

I gape at her. "Really?"

"Sure," she says, now smiling. "It _is_ your birthday."

 _She remembered._

I'm not one of those who are overly zealous to remind everyone of her birthday. I've always been rather low key about my _name day_ , not making a big deal out of it whatsoever.

I was _so_ laid back about my upcoming birthday, that Kate gave me quite an earful.

 _"_ _How can you not take your twenty-first birthday off?_

 _What the hell's wrong with you, Steele?!"_

I promised her that we'd go out and celebrate it tomorrow. I'd rather go out to the bar or club on Saturday anyway. Saturday usually weeds out the _too-wild Friday crowd_. They'll be busy still nursing a hangover.

Mrs. Clayton surprises me and springs an envelope into my hand.  
"It's not much. But _Happy Birthday_ from me, Mr. Clayton, and Paul."

 _Paul?_

"Oh, Mrs. Clayton…you really didn't have to do this. You and Mr. Clayton have already done so much for me."

She looks crestfallen and I immediately feel guilty for rejecting her gift. I quickly flip the script.

"Can I open it now?" I ask. She nods and I carefully unseal the flap on the back of the envelope. When it's open, I find a card wishing me _'the most splendid 21st birthday to a most splendid young lady'_. I know that they have taken the extra time to pick out this card especially for me, which warms my heart. Inside is a twenty-dollar gift card to Barnes and Noble.

I launch forward and ambush Mrs. Clayton with a hug.

"Thank you. I appreciate this so much."

She sweetly chuckles but is too shy to return the embrace. Maybe it's because I'm currently restraining her arms. I quickly realize this and release her.

"It's our pleasure, Ana. I wish we could've done more," she utters with a trace of regret.

And she's obviously referring back to prior times when they've brought out cake in the break room for other longtime employees' birthdays, and the gift cards that _they_ got were fifty dollars instead of twenty. I know this because Trevor who used to work here but has since graduated from WSU made sure to let _everyone_ know that the Claytons got him a fifty dollar Playstation gift card for his birthday.

But none of it matters because I wasn't even expecting anything at all today.  
And the icing on the cake is that the Claytons are sending me home early.

….

On my way out of the store, I texted Kate informing her that I would be home two hours early. Not that she'd care. I'm sure she's out clubbing with friends. It's no bother – I'll just stop at Barnes and Noble with my shiny new gift card on my way home and pick up a new book to start reading on the living room sofa.

After thumbing through a dozen books at the bookstore, I finally settle on _The Thousand Autumns of Jacob de Zoet_. It's a new book by British author David Mitchell. I'm more into the British classics, but there isn't much that I haven't already read in that genre. Now it's time for me to explore newer works if I am ever going to stand a chance in publishing. And plus, the synopsis of this new book looks very enticing. It's set at the end of the eighteenth century.

I finally pull up Wanda, my old beat-up VW Beetle, in front of the apartment. I look up at the window and as I expected, it's pitch black inside. Also, Kate's Mercedes is nowhere in sight.

It's sad, really…spending your birthday evening all alone. I could call José, but I'm sure that he's already found something more interesting to do on a Friday night by now.

I reach the door of my apartment unit with key in hand, and an extremely heavy backpack slung over one shoulder. One of these days, my back will absolutely hate me for all that I put it through, between carting around heavy boxes at Clayton's and lugging heavy textbooks all around campus.

I open the door and flip the light switch right by it.

 **"** **SURPRISE!"**

I'm scared shitless.

My backpack slides off of my shoulder and nearly impales my right foot.

Kate along with our friends Tiffany, Sasha, Belinda, Gabe, and José – among many others, are laughing and cheering at my _severely stunned_ reaction. There's a _HAPPY 21_ _ST_ _BIRTHDAY ANA_ banner strung across the wall several feet above the television, an assortment of latex and mylar balloons, and those annoying hanging paper fans adorning the very tiny living room space.

I peep the kitchen and our dinette table is covered with a red plastic sheet, and on top of it sits a punch bowl and a variety of snacks. Next to said punchbowl is a selection of questionable glass bottles, which I'm certain are the ingredients of the _special punch_. Oh, and there's a keg taking up space on the floor right beside the table.

And I don't even know half of these people in our apartment.  
There are at least _fifty_ of them here.

Kate and Belinda run up to embrace me.

"What the hell," I gasp with terrified eyes.

"You almost ruined the surprise," Kate laughs. "We thought you wouldn't be home until ten."

 _"_ _Wha..? Who..?"_ I'm speechless.

"It's your big twenty-first birthday!" Belinda chimes.

"We're getting you fucked up one way or another," Kate adds.

I narrow my eyes at her. "I told you that we were going out tomorrow. You didn't have to do this."

"Shut up," Kate scolds.

"Somebody, crank on the music!" a random voice shouts. And as if summoned by two handclaps, a pulsating club rhythm begins to envelop the small area.

 _I'm rather certain that someone in the building will be calling the cops up here soon._

"Who the hell is that singing? _Cher_?" José says to Kate as he squeezes in between the two girls to hug me.

"Lady Gaga, dodo," Kate snorts.

" _Who_?" José frowns, but then he quickly changes it into a fond smile for me.  
"Happy birthday, Ana."

"Thanks," I sigh, still feeling the tremors of my initial shock.

José and I have been friends since he first started WSU two years ago. He's a year behind Kate and I. The two of us started talking and we found out that his dad and my stepfather Ray, whom I consider to be my dad, once served in the army together. It was pretty neat reuniting the two of them.

"So they let you off early, huh?" he says.

"Yeah. They _never_ let me off early. Well…at least not two hours early," I pounder out loud.

"I'm glad you got here when you did. We all probably would've been completely smashed by the time you finally made it," Tiffany Fincher giggles off to the side. Tiffany is actually more of Kate's friend than mine. She is living proof that Kate prefers to be the smartest person _by far_ in her personal group of friends.

God knows how the girl managed to score decent enough on the SATs to get accepted at WSU, or anyplace else.

Sasha House, Kate's other friend comes barreling in with a plastic red cup full of punch.

"Alright, birthday girl! Let's get this party started!"

" _Woooooo_!" the chorus of partiers sings.

"Wait…what's in this?" I frown at the cup, now in my hand.

"Don't ask! _Drink it_!" a faceless voice demands.

" _Drink it! Drink it! Drink it!_ " voices chant in unison.

 _Oh no._

Someone _please_ rescue me.

….

At this point, I am beyond three sheets to the wind, as well as many others around me.

"Ana," Belinda garbles, almost stumbling over me in the kitchen. I've decided to switch to water, a survival tip I've learned from Ray – among many others things, in order to avoid a morning full of regret.

"What the hell is that?!" she squawks.

"Vodka," I lie as I down the contents of my glass. My arms feel like pillows of lead.

"Oh," she says, stammering off.

I decide to leave the barrage of college kids who are now shouting when they believe they're whispering, and retreat to my bedroom.

I go in and I'm alarmed when I catch two people who I've never seen before in my life making out in _my_ bed.

" _Hey_!" I call out. It's hilarious being drunk. You know that your speech comes out slurring, but there's absolutely nothing you can do about it.

The dude and the chick stop sucking face and gape at me.

"Is this _your_ room?" the guy says with a goofy expression.

"Uh, _yeah_ ," I say, glaring.  
 _So get the hell out._

"My bad," he apologizes, immediately climbing out of my bed and assisting his mortified female accomplice.

I almost feel bad for impeding their upcoming action, but then I quickly remember that _I_ haven't even had sex in my own bed – or _any_ bed for that matter. So screw them.

After they close the door behind them, I stare at the mattress and contemplate if one can catch an STD simply from horny college kids frolicking on your bed.

 _That would royally suck to catch crabs and never have the benefit of riding a penis._

" _Ana_?!"

I hear my name being called on the other side of the door, but before I can respond, the door swings open. It's José.

"There you are," he says, relieved.

I sigh and shut my eyes as I finally take a seat on the edge of my bed with water glass in hand.

"I had to get out of there, man," I groan, taking another sip before placing it on my bedside table.

José closes the door. "I can't say I blame you. It's getting kind of wild out there," he laughs.

"Who _are_ these people?" I sigh loudly. "Why are they here?"

He laughs again. "Hell if I know. I bet most of them are lowlife friends of Sasha."

"Ugh," I grunt in disgust. "Why is she even here? I don't _like_ her."

"I figure you didn't. She's a rich spoiled brat with a dangerous rebellious streak," José says, sitting on the bed right beside me.

"Exactly," I say to him, raising my imaginary glass. "I wouldn't be surprised if she roofied my punch earlier. I feel like _shit_."

José ignores my statement. "Sasha House banged half of Omega Delta Phi."

"Gross."

"She's classless. I don't understand how Kate's friends with her," he ponders.

"Well, your guess is as good as mine," I say, dripping with sarcasm.

"So…last year, huh?"

I nod. "Where has the time gone?"

"Don't know, but I hope it doesn't keep going _too_ fast. I'm going to miss you guys after you're gone."

"Aww," I smile fondly, placing a hand on his lap. He stares at it. "You'll do fine. You'll kick ass your senior year. Hopefully you'll come and see Kate and me in Seattle."

"I was thinking about finding a job there after I get my degree," he says matter-of-factly.

"That would be awesome," I beam.

"Yeah…I think I will," he now says confidently.

"Good," I smile.

"So do you have anything lined up there yet?"

I shake my head. "I thought I'd start my hunt the first of next year. Make appointments with few publishing houses for some informational interviews. Maybe even gain a few contacts. I already have two professors who've agreed to write me letters of recommendation."

"That's fantastic," José raves with slurred speech.

My heavy head makes it much more difficult to nod.  
"I just hope I get into publishing."

"Is that what you really want to do?"

"I mean…I _guess_ ," I shrug. "I love books. Isn't that what you're supposed to be doing if you love books?"

"Well, you could be a writer. Hey…," he suddenly stops himself, drunkenly holding a palm close to my face. "Maybe I can be the photographer for your first best selling novel… _huh_?"

"Nah," I frown, slowly shaking my head. "I like to read, not write."

"Okay…well publishing it is, then," he laughs.

"I'll be unstoppable with my red pen," I say, pitifully holding up an imaginary writing utensil with my right fist.

"You will," José nods in agreement. "You'll be a beautiful, unstoppable female Zorro," he says, swinging a fictitious sword in the air in Z-formation.

"Yeah!" I bark out with feeling.

Suddenly, José's face glides towards mine. He's literally a nose away.

"Can I be your Bernardo?"

I frown. " _Huh_?"

"He's Zorro's sidekick. Well…except for the _deaf mute_ part."

I'm seriously drunk and beyond confused.  
I'm certain my face shows it.

"I have no idea what the hell you're talking about, José."

"You know what? Never mind," he says. Then he's slides his right arm behind my back.

"What _tha_ …" I leap in place.

This feel wrong.  
 _So_ wrong.

"Ana, you're an amazing girl. I don't understand why you're still single," he purrs.

I clear my throat and try to scooch away, but he follows me.

"José…"

"It's your birthday, and we're here in your room. _Alone_."

Fuck me.  
 _No_ …on second thought, _don't_.

I'm feeling all kinds of creepy vibes. The sensation of nausea escalates the second his hand goes up and smooths down my hair.

"What are you doing?" I say with a raised voice.

"I've always adored you. I just never had the balls to tell you."

 _No_! No balls!  
I don't want to see yours, Rodriguez.

"You're smart. Witty. Hot as hell…" he rattles off.

" _Don't_ …"

I can't even get the rest of the words out when he flops on top of me like a heavy, drunk ass fish.

" _Hey_!" I shout.

"Ana, _please_ , " he begs, moaning into my ear. I'm in full-on panic mode.

"Get off me!"

I jolt him, but he doesn't budge.

"Ana, just let me love you. I promise to make you happy." His lips are now feathering across my cheek. José's not a big guy by any stretch, but right now he feels like four hundred pounds.

I'm so put off by the guy that I considered to be one of my very best friends.  
 _Why is he doing this to me?_

 _What an asshole!_

I am very drunk and tired, but now rage sets in. I've garnered just enough energy to push him off of me and onto the floor.

"No!" I scream. "Get the fuck out!"

He gapes up at me like a petrified little kitten. He's practically scared sober.

"Ana, wait! I'm sorry!"

"I don't give a shit! Get the fuck out of my room! Get _out_!" I scream at the top of my lungs.

José scans the room and looks scared shitless that some will come barging into the room thinking I'm being raped. He attempts to stand so fast that he falls right back down on his ass. Eventually he slowly wobbles up to his feet.

"Ana, I'm _so_ sorry…"

"Out!" I seethe.

He twists the door open, but I'm feeling so violated, so indignant, that I follow him out of the room. I'm practically breathing down his neck.

"Keep going!" I hiss.

"Ana," he says turning around to plead with me, but I shove him onward.

"Don't _Ana_ me! Get the fuck out of my apartment!"

I catch a few heavy eyes staring at us, but I don't dwell on them for long as I aim to make sure that my creepy so-called-friend gets the hell out.

As we pass the living room sofa, I catch Kate too busy making out with some guy to even care that I'm in the process of kicking José out of our apartment.

Once he's on the other side of the door, he turns and looks at me with the eyes of a scared little boy, and not the same pushy perv who was just lying on top of me in my bed attempting to violate me. His lips start to move and I can sense that he's a millisecond from vocalizing his final plea.

But his attempt is idle as I slam the door shut right in his stupid face.

….

My birthday weekend was shitty.

I woke up the day after my party feeling like a freight train ran over me. On top of being sick, I was skived out – recalling what happened with José. All weekend, he alternately called my cell and the apartment phone non-stop. I refuse to talk to him.

Kate continued to wonder why I didn't feel like speaking to him, but I just brushed it off and said that I didn't feel like talking on the phone to anyone. I was too embarrassed to tell her about what happened. So instead, I decided to avoid him and the topic of him.

José and I were drunk. I'm sure he didn't mean to do what he did, but the fact remains that he crossed the line. I wasn't raped or anything, but I still felt violated.

So for the entire time on campus Monday, I prayed not to run into him.

As I sit in the lecture hall for one of my British lit courses, I quickly scan the emails on my archaic phone. I roll my eyes once I see the name _José Rodriguez_ as one of the senders. I don't click on the email for fear of a read receipt. _It'd be just like him to do it, too._ I sigh.

When I continue to scroll down, I suddenly peep an email sent from the financial aid office.

 _Huh._

I open it.

* * *

From: WSU Financial Aid Office  
Subject: Employer Scholarship  
Date: September 13, 2010 09:17  
To: Anastasia Steele

Dear Miss Steele,

We regret to inform you that the scholarship award you accepted before the start the fall semester is no longer active. We advise you to contact your employer for specific details or to correct any administrative errors on their end.

Please be advised that your student account currently has a balance. If you are unable to cover this balance in full, we encourage you to visit the financial aid office to explore other options for aid. You may also visit the cashier's office to be placed on a payment schedule.

Sincerely,  
Kit Gibeau  
Financial Aid Administrator

* * *

 _What the hell is this?_

I'm gaping at my phone in the middle of lecture. This is obviously a mistake. _Settle down, Steele._ I take a deep breath. _I'm scheduled for work this afternoon. I'll go in and Mr. Clayton will take care of everything._ I put away my phone and try to pay attention for the remainder of class.

Lecture ends a little over an hour later and I check my phone again to discover a missed call from work. Whoever called left a voicemail, so I check it.

 _"_ _Ana…Mr. Clayton here. Things are kinda slow here today. Why don't you take the night off and we'll see you on Wednesday. Take care. Mm…bye, bye."_

 _Huh?_

I'm thrown off yet again. _They're giving me the day off?_ And they let me go two hours early on Friday. That's nearly eight hours of pay down the toilet.

I'm starting to get a little nervous. I need to settle this financial aid issue today. So I resolve to still go to the store to at least talk to Mr. Clayton about my scholarship.

After my final class, I head out to the parking lot and right over to my beloved hooptie Wanda – a _very_ old fashioned… _classic_ light blue (although a _faded_ light blue) VW Beetle. I toss my backpack onto the back seat, jump in the front, and turn the key.

Nothing. Only silence.

I turn her again.

 _* Cough! Cough! *_

This time she coughs, but she doesn't sing.

"Shit."

I turn her again.  
 _No go._

"Wanda – _come_ _ **on**_ ," I groan.

I try again and then I just press my forehead against the steering wheel.

It figures. I got this piece of shit from José.  
 _Sorry Wanda._  
And just like this car, my friendship with José no longer works.

When I sit back erect, I am startled when I hear a set of knuckles rapping against the glass. I turn my head to the left.

 _Shit._

"Ana...you need help?"

It's José, and he's standing there looking like a lost puppy in desperate need to reconcile. I am two seconds away from telling him to go fuck himself, but I know that he knows this car like the back of his hand. It used to belong to his mom.

Without saying a word, I open the door and step out. José pops the hood, wiggles a few cables and then climbs in. After two pumps on the gas and a key turn, Wanda's a little hoarse, but she's finally singing. I sigh in relief as he steps back out.

"Thanks."

"No problem. Hey – I was wondering if we could talk…"

"Not now," I cut him off. I don't have the time or the energy to go there right now.

Dejected, he pitifully closes his eyes and nods in understanding.  
"I'll catch you later, okay?"

I nod unenthusiastically in reply, climb back into my car, and take off.

….

The old rusty bells jingle the moment I pull open the glass door at Clayton's. It's a too familiar sound that I've even heard in my sleep at times. But what's not as familiar is the vague quiet and emptiness that permeates down these aisles.

Granted, Clayton's has never been as busy as the big box chain stores like it. This place is simply a modest mom and pop hardware shop. Still, Clayton's has been a pillar in this community for many years; a small business highly cherished by the locals. It's a _wonderful_ business. But lately, things have gotten kind of slow around here.

As I make way towards the front counter, I almost wonder if anyone's working here today at all. I don't see Larry or Joe stocking any of the shelves. I don't hear the sound of the old-fashioned, long-toothed cash register ringing.

When I reach up front, I'm startled to find Mr. Clayton himself with his elbows propped up on the counter s and his face leaning against his palms. He looks absolutely miserable.

"Mr. Clayton?"

The sound of my voice startles him.

"Ana? I called you…"

"I know, I got your message," I say, interrupting him.

"Good," he remarks. But he doesn't look _good_.

"What's going on?" I say, looking around the store once more. "Where's everyone?"

He swallows and leans back against the counter.

"I tried my best…but business is just _terrible_."

My eyes grow wide and round. I'm trying to take in every single word that he's saying so that I'm not misunderstanding him.

"I've held things off for as long as I could. I just can't do it anymore. I am going to have to file for bankruptcy and close the store."

" _What_?" I gape.

Oh my God.

"Yep," he utters with a broken spirit.

I've never seen Mr. Clayton like this. He's never showed signs of being a defeatist since I've known him. He's always been rather positive. Gung ho, even.

"I _really_ feel bad for those on staff who rely on a full-time salary. Joe, Larry, Margaret."

"That explains why my scholarship payment didn't take," I interject as a wave of terror takes over me.

He swallows. "I'm sorry, Ana," he says with sincere eyes and the deepest remorse. "I tried, but I just wasn't able to do it. I also won't be able to keep you on as an employee.

I know that this man's entire world is falling apart. But as he proceeds to tell me that I'm fucked and have no money to cover my final year of school as well as my living expenses, I can't stop myself from breaking down.

" _Ana_ ," he frantically says my name as he rounds the counter.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Clayton. _I…_ We'll talk again later," I sob as I turn on my heel and rush out of there as fast as I can.

 _I don't want him to see me crying.  
He has his own problems to deal with._

I hate myself in that moment. Here's this kind man and his wonderful wife about to lose their entire livelihoods, yet I can't control my own selfish emotions because I know for a fact that I'm going to have my work cut out for me. I'm facing having to drop out of college in my fourth year because my mother, my stepfather, or I can't afford the cost of one year's tuition.

I hop in my car and I'm relieved that Wanda starts up this time before Mr. Clayton has a chance to come after me and watch me completely falling apart.

….

"Is there anything you can do for me?" I ask out of pure desperation.

Mr. Gibeau, the small statured, salt-and-pepper-haired nice man from the financial aid office is extremely sympathetic as I sit before him in his office, but his sympathy does nothing to dissolve the pain that sits heavy in the pit of my belly. After plowing through his computer for every available option, the only thing he can offer me is a two-month grace period, followed by an _affordable_ payment plan.

"It's a little too late to apply for student loans for the year. And I'm not very certain that you'd even qualify," he says regretfully. "Keep attending class and let's see where you land in two months. I suggest you use that time to either borrow from family or friends, or land another job before your first payment is due."

I'm devastated. On top of my heavy course load, I am now being tasked with begging for money while trying to scrounge for a new job.

I arrive home two hours later and I'm relieved that Kate's not here. No chance in hell that I'm telling her anything about my situation at Clayton's or my overall financial aid turmoil. My best friend is fortunate that she doesn't have to worry about money like I do. She comes from a well-to-do family, so she won't be able to relate to my plight.

I'm thankful that I at least have enough cash in the bank to keep up with my end of the rent so that she won't be suspicious. Still, I'll need more than that soon, or I'll be forced to drop out of WSU. Then _everyone_ will know that I'm flat broke, and that would be a tragedy.

I awaken Kate's laptop on the kitchen counter and start to comb through the online classifieds to see if I can find a flexible job that pays enough for me to afford tuition.

 _Fuck._

I could just bang my head against the counter, but I keep my shattered feelings in check as I traverse from one web page to the next.

...

I wake up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat trigged by a nightmare. I dreamed that I couldn't graduate with my friends and I ended up working some grimy dead end job in backwoods Montesano. I also lived in Ray's basement.

The tears begin to stream down my face at the very thought.

I exit my bedroom and find Kate's door closed. _She's home._ It's almost three in the morning, so I'm rather certain that she's asleep. Thankfully her laptop's still out here, so I fire it up and put on a kettle for tea.

Soon, I'm searching through a whole new list of jobs. My earlier search was unsuccessful. I've already done the math in my head and a fast food gig wouldn't even put a dent in my expenses. I need something that's both flexible with school, yet the hours are plentiful. It'll have to be a business that's open late, and I might even have to pull weekend hours in order to make up for lost wages depending on when I'm able to start the new gig.

I have a renewed urgency to find something pronto because my livelihood absolutely depends on it.

….

"Ana!"

I wake with a jolt. My cheek feels achy and flat. And wet.

 _Shit – I practically drooled all over this counter._

I gape at Kate as she takes me in wearing a concerned expression.

"Damn girl…what gives? How long have you been in here?"

I yawn and heavily sigh as I try to find my bearings after crashing hard and waking up suddenly. I'm relieved to see that Kate's computer is now in sleep mode, so she can't see what I've been up to in the wee hours of the morning.

"I was working on a paper for class," I lie. "I must've fallen asleep in the middle of it."

"Oh," she says with understanding. "Hey – I've been meaning to tell you about that guy Derrick who was at your party Friday," she says with a naughty smirk.

"Who's Derrick?" I frown, wiping my face with the back of my hand.  
 _Sheesh…I feel nasty._

"He's the guy I was making out with."

"On the sofa?" I ask. I only saw the back of his head, anyway.

She beams. "You think he's cute?"

"Well, I wasn't able to see his face because he was too busy eating yours."

Kate laughs. "Well, I think he's kinda cute. _And_ he has a decent sized cock."

 _She banged him?_  
What am I thinking – _of course_ she did.

When Kate meets a guy she likes, she's ready to roll. She doesn't believe in waiting and letting things build up. That's why she's always crashing and burning. And I'm the one who has to listen to her whine and moan when things go south.

I roll my eyes at her. "Not interested."

"Ana Steele," she says, straightening up her posture and squaring her shoulders. "I'm making it my mission to finally get you laid this year."

I snort. "No thanks."

 _Miss Kavanagh, I'd rather get paid than get laid these days._

….

In between classes, I decide to leave campus to grab lunch. The dining hall's just way too expensive, and I have to be a little more contentious these days of where I eat until I land another job.

 _The tuna's on special today. I could get that on wheat and a bag of chips for five bucks.  
_ But when I get to the sandwich shop off campus, the line is practically out the door.  
I'm frustrated.

 _Well, it's either here or McDonald's, Steele.  
_ I'd hate myself much less if I just stick with tuna.

I cave and wait in line. It moves at a snail's pace. It's times like these when I wish I had a smartphone to pass the time instead of this dinosaur of a contraption.

 _Damn, I'm poor._

Near the door, there's a stack of _Portland Night Life_ free newspapers. I take one and begin thumbing through it.

I see an article about some struggling grunge artist- _slash_ -rapper pushing their brand new mix tape. Next, there's a full-page spread promoting some lame vegan expo happening next week.

Oh, and look – _Weed Smokers Unite_.

I roll my eyes and continue to parse the waste of ink and newspaper. I eventually stumble across the classifieds section. Nothing in here so far has me jumping out of my proverbial seat.

 _Appointment Setter.  
Cutlery Sales. _

I groan.

I see a slew of bartender and waitressing jobs, and a slight flicker of consideration hits me. _Depending how long the business stays open each night and how busy they are, waitressing just might work._

The sandwich line finally moves along and I'm getting closer to the front. Just before I fold and discard the paper, I catch another ad.

 _Searching for smart cuties in desperate need of tuition.  
Make an average of $500/night working just five hours.  
Open 24 hours/7 days, we are a very flexible and classy organization.  
Must be over 21._

 _'_ _Smart cuties'?  
_  
And yes, I am desperate for tuition – but this looks sketchy as hell.

Could it be a sperm bank? No, impossible. No guy can jerk off for five hours straight each night. Maybe it's some lab where they pump you with non-ADA approved drugs like a poor little white mouse. Or maybe it's a black market organ ring.

If I don't earn money soon, I may have to give up a kidney.

 _'_ _Classy organization'?_

Well, this _is_ in the paper. I'm curious what'll happen if I call. Worst case, I can walk out of there after saying ' _no'_ with a good story to tell my friends later.

 _Much_ later…like _after-I-get-a-new-job_ later.

….

After my third and final class of the day, I find myself pulling up to the Heathman Hotel in Portland.

Earlier, I tore out the ad that caught my eye with no real intention of following through. Instead, I went directly to the computer lab and continued on with my job search. In the middle of my quest, I suddenly remembered that if I don't get at least a few grand by Thanksgiving break, I won't be able to register for classes once spring registration opens. Three of the final four classes that I need in order to graduate traditionally fill up fast.

That's when I convinced myself that I needed to just bite the bullet and leave no stone unturned. I can't be overly selective on where I find my lifeline. So when I stepped out in the hallway of the library with the torn ad in hand, I said to myself – _Yes, I am in a very desperate way_.

When I called the phone number of the business searching for _"Smart cuties"_ , a sweet young female voice soon greeted me in a very professional manner. I inquired about the ad in _Portland Night Life_ , and she asked me if I'm currently working. Instead of answering her question directly I started rambling, telling her that I'm a current a senior at WSU who would like to work part-time in the evenings.

The nice lady's voice lighted up and proceeded to tell me that I'm what they're looking for, and that I was also in luck today. She tells me about the _by invitation only_ job fair currently going on until eight o'clock tonight at the hotel and that she was adding my name on the list.

I then said to myself – _she sounds professional enough_. If there's a job fair happening right now at a well-known and reputable Portland-area hotel, then I have no reason to be afraid. It probably won't be some skeevy photo shoot or a motion picture that I'll regret doing much later in life.

But before I agreed to go to the interview, I ask her what type of business this was.

 _"_ _It will all be explained to you at the interview."_

 _Whoa – what an elusive answer._

I got nervous all over again, but then I reminded myself that I didn't have to do anything that I didn't want to. Besides, I'd be forever curious about the job until I found out what it was all about.

 _What the hell.  
Let's go check it out._

After agreeing to the three o'clock appointment, I stopped by the apartment, threw on an old brown skirt from high school, a white cotton button-up top, and fraying black flats before grabbing a few copies of my resume along with my portfolio binder. I couldn't get the thought of five hundred bucks a night after working just five hours out of my mind.

Who in the hell makes that kind of money still in college?  
 _I don't even know why I'm actually going through with this_ – I thought to myself.

On the way to the Heathman, I had flashes of thought of me sitting on a couch across from some faceless fat guy – telling him where I grew up before he tells me to take off my top. Then he sends in some random well-hung black guy before bringing in the camera closer to film me losing my virginity. I shudder at the very notion.

Once at the hotel, I walk in and immediately see the sign that says –  
 _Appointment Only Job Fair, This Way._

Once I enter the ballroom, I see nothing but attractive girls. _Gorgeous_ girls – all _very_ well dressed, wearing tight fitted skirts or dresses, and heels as high the top of the Space Needle. I could _never_ walk in those shoes and not end up crashing on my ass.

I immediately feel insignificant. _Even if I wanted the job, I won't be beating any of these girls._ I lower my head, and the thought of leaving the site instantly occurs to me. But once I turn back towards the door, an attractive older redhead in a black skirt suit stops me.

"Hi, are you here for an interview?" she beams.

"Yeah… _I_ …" I'm utterly frazzled. My mind's all over the place.

"Good. Are you twenty-one or over?" she asks.

I blink, " _Ye_ …yes. I am. I just turned twenty-one on Friday."

She looks very pleased by my answer.

"I'm not sure what you're looking for, but I'm a full-time college student right now. I don't have that much work experience outside of working at a hardware store," I tell her.

The longer she stares at me, the more nervous I get.

Finally, she says, "Come with me."  
I gape at her.

When I eventually kick into step and go after her, I catch a ballroom full of eyes critically sizing me up. I feel the most uncomfortable that I could ever remember feeling.

 _Hey, I've been waiting for hours!_ – I even hear one girl whine.

Perhaps this woman simply picked me from the bunch in order to escort me out of the hotel through the back alley. It might even be like that talent show where all of the contestants advancing to the next round get left in one room, while all of the losers get taken to an entirely different room where there are producers on hand to pass out tissues and hug those who are weeping ceaselessly.

The woman soon brings me into a small conference room that's set up as an office with a large wooden desk. She walks behind it as I stand beside the chair on the other side.

"Take a seat, sweetheart," she says, not even looking up at me but at her stack of papers on the desk. "I'm Lauren Moratti. I manage the business. What's your name?"

"Ana. _Uh_ , Anastasia Steele." I'm a blithering mess as I sit down.

She looks up at me with amusement, lips pursed. "Well, aren't you just adorable – _and_ with a sexy stripper name to match. It's perfect."

 _Oh my God…she's looking for strippers._

Suddenly, images of the girls waiting just outside of this room come flooding back in.

 _No wonder!_

"Why don't you stand for me and give me a little twirl. Let me see you," she says.

 _Yes, that's_ _ **exactly**_ _what this is all about._

I begin to feel the bile rising up my esophagus.  
My pulse is throbbing hard against my wrists.

 _Just do what she asks and then tell her –_ _ **Hell no**_ _._

I stand and start to turn.

"Not too fast, sweetie," she says quickly, and I immediately slow down.

I feel like a piece of meat being sized up for slaughter.

"Thank you. You can sit back down."

I comply.

"Do you dance?" she asks.

 _What a joke._

I laugh with a slight scoff. "No."

"Okay. So tell me a little bit about yourself. What did you do before coming here?"

 _Show her that you don't qualify. You're just a lame bookworm with no dance experience and not a single ounce of sex appeal._

I open up my portfolio in my lap and begin to ramble through it for a copy of my resume.

"No," she says, stopping me cold in my tracks. "I don't need it. Just tell me what you did," she says.

"I _uh_ …I worked at a hardware store. _I_ …I'm a student at WSU," I stammer.

"Vancouver?"

I nod. "Yes."

"I see," she says, contemplative. "What's your major?"

"English Lit."

"Hmm. So you want to write books?"

"I want to go into publishing."

She nods with a tight lip. "Alright. So tell me about your hobbies. What do you like to do?"

I have no idea why I'm even entertaining this right now. I have no desire to work at a glorified strip club. I've heard bad things about Portland strip joints – that they're dirty and the girls get totally nude – kibbles, bits and all. And the men are simply animals. I'd be afraid that I wouldn't make it out of there alive.

But with every nerve jumping in my skin and the nauseating feeling parsing up my gut, I still decide to humor her. She is nice and all. I'll simply lead her into a _slow no_ – either from her or from me.

 _One of us is going to say_ _ **'No'**_ _._

" _Uh_ …I love to read books."

"Really? Like what kind?"

"Mostly the British classics. Thomas Hardy. Charlotte Bronte…"

"Jane Austen?"

"Yes," I respond.

"I like her," she smiles.

I suddenly feel slightly at ease. I was intimidated at first, but Ms. Moratti seems rather nice.

"So I take it that you are looking to work nights and weekends, correct?"

 _Oh shit._ She wants to talk shop, but I know for certain that I have no business even considering working at a strip club.

 _She is looking for a stripper, right?_

"Look, Anastasia…"

"Ana."

" _Ana_ …you seem like a very sweet girl. You'd be perfect at Zion."

I gape at her. " _Zion_?"

I've passed many strip clubs in the Portland and Vancouver areas, and I've never seen a building with a sign that read _"Zion"_ in neon lights.

"We run a specialized restaurant business. We hire the world's top chefs, and our clientele is elite… _extremely_ elite. You've heard of _'the black card'_?"

I'm dumbstruck, completely at a loss.

"It's a credit card for the insanely rich. You have to be in a certain tax bracket in order to qualify…and even then, you can't apply for it. These people are hand-selected. _All_ of our clients have black cards."

My eyes practically fall out of their sockets.

"So…you say that this is a restaurant business?" I ask with a soft, unsure voice once I find a fraction of my nerve.

She inhales deeply and exhales.  
"Zion is an elite luxury gentlemen's club that's open 24/7."

The truth is finally out.  
 _It's a damn strip club._

"Our clientele's millionaires and billionaires," she continues. "All of the girls on staff are smart and very beautiful, like yourself. And like I said, our restaurant employs a heavy rotation of world-renowned chefs. You'd know some of them by name, but they are all anonymous for obvious reasons. Many of our clients come specifically for the food, believe it or not."

I'm finally ready to come clean with Ms. Moratti.  
I've heard enough.

"I wasn't expecting this," I say nervously.

"I can tell," she chuckles. "But if you're interested, I'd like to offer you a job today. You can start tonight if you'd like. How does twenty dollars an hour sound?"

 **What**?! Is she fucking mad? Hell, I was only making nine an hour at Clayton's. This is asinine. I need to tell this woman that I can't do this job.

" _I_ …I'm not a dancer. I'm sorry," I tremble.

"Sweetness, that's not our dancers' pay," she smirks. "That's just what we pay the new servers. You'd be serving guests food and drinks. You said you're at least twenty-one…right?"

 _Whoa_ – their waitresses make twenty an hour? I'm pretty sure that's factoring in tips.

"Yes…I am."

"Excellent," She says with a smile. "So could you start tonight?"

"Wait," I interrupt my own response. "Does that starting salary include tips?"

"No. Whatever you earn in tips is above and beyond twenty an hour."

 _Holy fucking shit.  
Twenty dollars an hour?  
AND tips?_

Let's face it: I'm fucking desperate. How many times have I joked during college about being so broke that I could swing on a pole for money?

 _You are officially at that point, Ana._

However according to Ms. Moratti, I'm not going to be pole dancing.  
I'll only be serving food.

"I understand why you'd be nervous," she says to me in a reassuring voice. She retrieves her cell phone from the table and soon begins to perform swiping gestures with the screen.

"Our servers have a standard uniform that's extremely modest. In fact, we want all of our servers to maintain a modicum of innocence, at minimum. It's alluring to our clientele to have that stark contrast between our servers and the talent. That is the true essence of Zion, which is why I picked you out of all of those other girls back there," she beams.

Ms. Moratti slides her phone over to me. Hesitant, I pick it up. On the screen, I see a black mini dress that goes past the crotch about five inches. _Whoa._ But the good thing is that the entire top front is covered – _no boobs showing_. The sleeves stop at the elbows and there's white trim adorning the collar and cuffs. Just as she said, the uniform is relatively modest.

"That's what you'll be wearing. Another girl will take the client's order, and all you'll have to do is deliver their food and keep the drinks coming. If the client requests a dance on the spot, you simply retrieve the girl of their choice if they are available."

 _My word, this all sounds simple but it's still rather complicated.  
_ I can tell by her expression that she knows I'm still not completely sold on the idea.

"Look, all you have to worry about is smiling and being as sweet as you look. If the clients like what they see, they will show you the in form of a fat ass tip."

I exhale as I place her phone on the table and slide it back across. She catches it mid-slide.

"Give it a week," she bargains. "If you don't make more money in that time than you've ever made _and_ have fun while doing it, then you can leave Zion and work somewhere else. No hard feelings."

I take her words into serious consideration.

 _What's a week, Steele? The worst that could happen is that I make a little extra money serving food…even more than I would ever make waitressing anyplace else._

"But I promise, you'll definitely want to stay once the week is done," she smirks.

Somehow, I sincerely doubt that will be the case with me.  
I know myself.  
If it feels dirty or sleazy, I won't like it at all.

I'll hate it.

"So, what do you say? You want to give it a shot starting tonight? The sooner you get on board, the sooner you can finish up the week trial," Ms. Moratti tempts.

I take in a breath.  
 _What the hell – I have nothing to lose here._

"Sure…I'll give it a shot," I say in a voice that doesn't sound so certain.

"Fantastic. First of all, I'm going to give you an _office name_ ," she says, now jotting down something on paper. "From here on out, every time you come in to work, you will go by _London_."

Is she serious?

"Aliases are something that we do for precautionary reasons. We like to maintain all our girls' anonymity. I even go by one," she peps. "My office name is L-Mo."

I squint. "Like Elmo? From Sesame Street?"  
 _Is it because of the red hair?_

She looks slightly irritated.  
"No. _L_ -Mo. Like _J_ -Lo."

 _Uh, that doesn't make any sense._

"Oh," I exhale nervously.

If this entire traumatizing experience didn't seem like one great big joke, I'd laugh.

"I think London suits you. You know…the whole British literature thing," she beams.

I now have a fucking alias?  
This is so insane that it sounds illegal.

"London has an air of mystique. Don't get me wrong – Anastasia is a hot ass name, but _Anastasia Steele_ sounds like an orgasmic tropical storm."

I gape at her.  
I've heard people say many things about my name – but _never_ that.

She continues. "First of all, that's your _real_ name – which we can't have. Secondly, it screams _sex goddess_. Now, I'm not doubting that's what you are outside of work, but we usually reserve the flashier names for the talent," she grins.

I blush. No, it's not the first time I've heard that my full name sounds like the moniker of a stripper or a porn star. Which makes this entire thing just that much odder. I'll be working at a _gentlemen's club_ , yet I can't even use my real name.

"So, let's get you started on the paperwork. We'll also get you set with a uniform before you leave here today so that you can jump right into your first shift. You'll be training alongside Becky, one of our veteran servers."

My nose crinkles. "Is Becky her _office name_?"

Ms. Moratti nods. "Only office names from here on out. Welcome to the team, London," she smiles proudly. I smile in return, but my insides start to sink.

 _What am I getting myself into?_

….

 _"_ _This is a very exclusive establishment. I can only give you the GPS coordinates"_ – the redhead told me before I left the Heathman.

This forced me to key in the coordinates into Kate's laptop back at the apartment in order to find the exact location of the business. When I zoomed in on the map, the area appeared to be highly sketchy.

 _Oh shit_ – I muttered to myself.

Two hours later, I find myself in a Portland neighborhood where the old warehouse I just saw online now stands before me. This area looks so sketchy that I even fear for Wanda's safety, and that's _never_ happened.

Ms. Moratti…oops, excuse me – _L-Mo_ has informed me that even though it may not look like it, the parking lot and the area surrounding the building is protected by top-notch security services. She said that if anything ever goes down…if any of the girls are in danger, someone would come barreling out of the bushes to rescue me right on the spot. And although the thought is reassuring, it doesn't do much to calm my nerves in this very moment.

I soon see the lot that she told me about. What's comforting is that there's a few fancy-looking cars parked in a lot not too far from the building. I park Wanda all the way in the back, away from the rest. She's definitely an eye sore in comparison.

All of a sudden, a wave of fear washes over me.

 _What are you doing, Steele?_

I turn back on the ignition and set to back out and return home.  
But as I shift the gear into reverse, reality quickly hits me.

 _You're going to regret not finding out what's behind that door._

I know myself. I won't sleep tonight if I don't find out exactly what this job's all about.

 _It's just a waitressing job, Steele – and the uniform isn't that bad.  
I mean it's even way more modest than Hooters'._

Worst case, I can still say _'No'_.

….

I approach the door of the warehouse and knock twice, _slowly_ – as instructed.

"Yes," an intimidating male voice vibrates from the other side.

I'm quaking in these uncomfortable strapped heels. _And to think, I have to wear these all night long. My feet are going to hate me._ I'm draped in a black trench coat that thankfully hides this short excuse of a uniform. I feel like a flasher.

"The red pill," I call back. I think back to just hours ago when L-Mo first gave me the directive and I gave her a very puzzled look in return.

 _"_ _You remember the movie The Matrix," she asked._

 _I nodded._

 _"_ _Zion is the last city standing after the war of man versus machine. The only way to escape the lie of the Matrix and journey into the truth of Zion is by taking the red pill," she said matter-of-factly._

 _Yeah, this is some weird ass shit.  
_ I may be a nerd, but I am _not_ a science fiction nerd.

I soon hear the clunk of a deadbolt. The door slowly opens revealing a monstrosity of a man standing at least six feet and eight inches tall of solid muscle. He's dressed in all black.

"Free your mind," he says in a voice that emits pure bass and reverberates every bone in my body. My seemingly ever-present emotion of regret returns with a vengeance.

He steps aside and I saunter in. As I scan the inside, I am so blown away that I barely notice the heavy steel door slamming and deadbolting shut behind me.

I am beyond awestruck.

On the outside, it looks just like any old ancient dilapidated warehouse found in large cities everywhere – once erected over a century ago during the manufacturing boom. The parking lot is a distance away, so anyone could assume that this building is and always has been abandoned for many, _many_ years.

But the moment you walk inside, it's just like paradise. The stark contrast of the outside desolate surroundings of an abandoned building and its adjacent dingy lot that nearly takes up four dead city blocks, and then stepping foot inside of it – it's like a deity forcefully snatching you out of the jaws of hell and ushering you into the pearly gates of heaven.

It's simply breathtaking.

The air smells of lavender, polished leather, and a crisp musk. The atmosphere is beautiful and delicate, yet masculine all at the same time. And although the light is muted, the long, colossal lobby is adorned with a dozen massive lighted chandeliers that mushroom down and span outwards above me like giant jellyfish.

There are gorgeous floral arrangements, gigantic tree plants, and sparkling crystal accents spread throughout, creating a scene of wonderment. It's how I imagined Manderley to be in _Rebecca_ , but on steroids. The select artwork, either framed on the walls or in the form of standing classical marble-carved busts, looks to be worth more money then I'll ever see in a lifetime.

Along the right side of the wall just as you come through the door, there's a long magnificent, very immaculately polished spotless cherry oak counter top that's dressed with crystal beading around the outer parameter. The structure stands about chest-high, and the crystals surrounding it mimic the majesty of the chandeliers floating above.

If the camera on my phone still worked, I'd take a photo of this space and make it my desktop wallpaper. There's simply nothing like this place.

I'm so taken away by my dreamy surroundings, that I almost didn't notice the two very attractive and scantily clad women manning the counter – one blonde, one brunette. I wonder what it is that they actually do here. I don't see a cash register or an array of _Club Zion_ t-shirts for sale hanging behind them.

These girls were obviously assigned to wear _special_ uniforms, much different than the servers' apparel that I currently have on under my coat. Braless, their breasts are hardly concealed under the draping of glittery black fabric. They're both wearing what can only be described as a chainmail halter top/booty shorts romper. Both of their physiques are _flawless_.

 _Holy cow, these chicks are smokin' hot.  
_ The rich guys who come here have one helluva welcoming committee.

I then start to feel extremely insignificant…not just in the presence of these girls, but here in this marvelous space. I will probably explode once I get a look at the actual club itself beyond this lobby.

No – I've never seen anything like it. This place has to be tens of millions of dollars. L-Mo did say that all of their clientele are either multi-millionaires or billionaires. This space definitely gives that exact impression, and then some.

Behind the counter, the gorgeous brunette asks, "Can I help you?"

I clear my throat. "Hi, today's my first day and I'm supposed to be meeting Becky."

Without a smile or further acknowledgement, Miss Brunette picks up the phone. Soon, a redhead who's _not_ L-Mo emerges from the back and unlatches the chest-high door at the end of the counter to meet me on the other side. With her hair slicked back into a flowy ponytail, she's wearing the exact same uniform as mine, but it looks much better on her. She also walks more confidently than I do in super-high heels.

"London?" she beams once we are face to face.

"Uh… _yes_ ," I utter way too nervously.

She extends her hand and smiles. "I'm Becky. Welcome to Zion."  
We shake.

I'm probably the taller of us two since Becky currently stands eye-level with me, yet her heels are much higher than mine. And although she may be shorter than me, she's _way_ leaner than I am.

 _I truly need to lay off the bread_

"Follow me," she instructs, leading the way from whence she came. I'm nervous when the other two girls silently study me as I follow Becky back behind the counter and through the back door. Once I've cleared it, Becky walks back a few steps and closes the door behind me.

The rear corridor doesn't look as bright and angelic as the lobby, but it's still beautiful all the same. It's how I imagine the back stage of a major theater production would look like.

There are streams of different colored lights emitting from different rooms in different areas as we stroll by. I see various large potted plants strung with white LED-lights lining the halls – but I'm certain that they're not real due to the lack of natural lighting back here. I spy the occasional chandelier up in the rafters, still very beautiful, but not as massive as the ones adorning the main lobby. I'm still just as overwhelmed in here as I was out there.

As I take in my new surroundings, Becky suddenly stops colds in her tracks – startling me.

"Relax," she sighs with a humored smirk. "This entire area is for employees only. Guests are _never_ allowed back here. This is where you can unwind and recharge. We have so many wonderful amenities here. In fact, just about everyone comes to work hours before their shift starts, and then end up staying hours after the end of it in order to take full advantage of all the perks. Mr. Dark even has a full staff of massage therapists _just_ for the employees."

My eyes narrow. "Mr. Dark?"

"Jay Dark. He's the owner of the place."

I'm even more confused than I was before. "So who's L-Mo, then?"

"L-Mo manages the place. Jay Dark's the _big kahuna_. If all goes well, you will _never_ meet him," she says eerily.

I'm feeling rather uneasy.  
"Is that his _office name_? _Dark_?" I ask.

Becky laughs. "No. His name is _really_ Jay Dark. He's fucking loaded, and all of his friends are fucking loaded."

 _Oh._

"Many of his friends are clients here."

I have so many questions funneling through my brain right now, with no idea of where to even begin.

"Look," Becky starts, interrupting my thought. "Let's get you through the tour first. Then we'll address any questions that you have. I'll show you to the servers' boudoir where you'll have your own bench and storage locker."

"Servers' boudoir?" I inquire.

"The servers are in one boudoir, the talent – or _dancers_ are in another," she clarifies.

"Oh." Then another thought crosses my mind. It's a question that I was eager to ask L-Mo back at the hotel, but didn't bother because it doesn't necessarily pertain to me.

"Are the dancers nude?"

Becky's expression is firm. " _No_ …absolutely not. Zion is a very classy establishment. Also, the girls are not allowed to be touched by the clients unless they absolutely want to be touched."

I'm relieved, but yet I still have more questions.

 _Why do the dancers get paid so much if they aren't nude?  
Why is Zion so exclusive?  
What makes this place any different than any other run-of-the-mill sports bar with scantily clad, fit girls?_

"Now that's not to say that the girls don't get naked in the private rooms," she adds.

I gape at her. " _Private rooms_?"

"Yes. For an upcharge, our members can get a thirty minute appointment with a dancer of their choosing in _Private Row_."

 _Private Row?_

Just when I think the situation here gets better, it sinks right back into the damn toilet.

 _Ana, this is none of your concern.  
You're just a server._

For quite a few times tonight, I will have to talk myself off of the ledge.

….

The girls I meet in passing as Becky gives me the grand tour were very friendly to _the new girl_. It helped to take the edge off, somewhat.

Eventually the tour brings Becky and I to the very impressive servers' boudoir. It actually looks like it could be the huge bedroom of some millionaire's stay-at-home wife. The space is also adorned with big beautiful chandeliers.

There are sections of mirrors lined up against the back wall. I catch a server girl nonchalantly standing in front of one of them and tugging down at the same black mini-dress that I'm wearing underneath this coat.

 _No use for that, girlie. That dress will remain short no matter how much you pull at it._

 _Believe me, I've already tried._

Becky takes me down an aisle of polished wooden doors subbing as lockers, or more like little fancy closets, that each line up edge to edge. Every door's surface dons a gold plate with a single name etched on it in black script.

Luna.  
Darling.  
Keesha.  
Carla.

 _Holy shit – that's my mom's name._  
I shudder at the thought.

 _My_ Carla may be a hopeless romantic, but she'd _never_ work in a place like this.  
 _In fact, she'd never work anyplace at all.  
_ I mentally roll my eyes.

Pretty soon, I see ' _London'_.  
 _Dang, that was fast._

"Here you are," Becky announces, handing me a fancy gold padlock with four combination wheels on the bottom of it. "The instructions are on that little sticker. Once you set the combination, that's what it'll be from here on out."

I nod and quickly parse the sticker. In an cinch, my combination is all set.  
It's Ray's birth year.

 _Oh, the irony.  
Ray would have a coronary if he ever saw me working in this place.  
_I quickly dismiss the thought.

"Why don't you go ahead and hang up your things." Becky opens my locker and I see three more uniforms hanging inside, along with tons of extra space for my coat, purse, and shoes – among other potential things.

 _This is fancy as hell. All of it._

I hang my purse up on the hook inside. I then finally unbutton and remove my trench coat and drape it over my purse. Becky closes the door and I seal it with my newly programmed padlock.

Becky gives me the remainder of the servers' boudoir tour, showing off the impeccable, high-class bathroom and shower area before leading me over to the snack bar, which is essentially a posh break room that can fit up to ten people. My eyes are now straining because they have been wide-open since I first stepped into this bewitching warehouse. Everything I see continues to push the envelope for my senses.

"Wait until you peep the employees' lounge. It's much bigger than this," Becky beams. The very notion astounds me. We eventually exit the servers' boudoir and she leads the way towards several other amenities.

"Down there is the employee spa. We have a full gym and dance room."

That explains why all of the girls who work here are in such good shape.  
 _I'll definitely be taking full advantage of the gym – that's if I even work here for long enough._

"There's also an _Arizona dry heat room_ , which is essentially a red light therapy room with menthol pumping through the vents. It's _amazing_ … _oh_ , and it's a godsend for congestion," she raves. "And we also have a sauna. Many of the girls exit their boudoir just in their robes and head straight there. I'll be doing that tonight after my shift," she gleams.

I nod, beyond impressed that there's so much available here for the employees.

"On the other side is where you can get a massage. Set your appointments early because they fill up fast, and they're only open from nine in the morning until ten at night."

I recall her mentioning massages earlier, but I was more interested in discussing the mysterious _Mr. Dark_ at the time. "And anyone who works here can get one?" I ask.

She nods with a big smile. "Yes, girl. And all of the therapists are awesome. They're all women, though. No hot, muscular men to feel you up," she says with a flash of disappointment.

Not that I'd mind receiving a massage from a female. On second thought – I don't believe I've ever received a massage from _anyone_ – male or female – _ever_.

"Why all women?" I ask out of curiosity.

Becky shrugs. "Mr. Dark's call. Maybe he doesn't want the girls getting distracted by any men other than the clientele."

That makes absolutely _no_ sense.

"But what if the girl's bi? Wouldn't they be equally as distracted?" I foolishly remark.  
Immediately, I want to slap myself.

 _Ana, Ana, Ana…_

Becky giggles. "I thought about that, too. Again, I don't know why that's even a rule. It was simply my dumb guess."

 _Sheesh._

Something tells me that I'm going to have to dumb it _all the way down_ in order to be able to adequately function here. _Don't ask any more questions, Steele._

It's something that I've never had the capacity to do whatsoever.

….

"The servers here function as runners for _all_ clients, regardless if they sit at one of your assigned tables."

Becky gives me the entire rundown as we both lean against the station where the back of the house delivers the finished plated orders to the front of the house.

Already I'm picking up on the restaurant lingo, impressing even myself.

 _You got this, Steele._

"We also act as expeditors, so it's very important to know how long your clients have been waiting for their meal before they so unkindly remind _you_ how long they've been waiting," she chuckles. "Oh – and they _will_ remind you, especially if their designated talent isn't doing a good enough job holding their attention. When you stay on top of the time, you're able to keep your chef and line cooks on the ball."

I nod in understanding.

"And make sure that you keep the drinks coming. Clients like their spring water, but they _love_ their booze," she concludes.

"Got it," I say with a definite single nod.

"Good. I know you do," she beams. "So I'm going to do three tables and have you watch me. When we get to the fourth, then it's your turn."

I sigh. "Oh boy."

"It's easy, trust me. I'll be standing right there with you. The clients will know you're new and will be very patient with you," she assures me.

When Becky takes me onto the floor where all the clients are, I am breathless.

I couldn't have even dreamt of such a place. Hanging down the solid oak beams in the rafters are a legion of fantastical chandeliers with even more intricate detail than the ones in the lobby. The floors are of brown marble, complementing the wood far up above it. There are booths with table lamps along the walls. In the vast center, there are clusters of tan velvet couches arranged like a game of Tetris.

In the front of the floor, there's a raised platform with steps and a rail – a stage, if you will – topped with seductive draping like something found in a classy, old-fashioned burlesque club.

There's the spicy, pungent smell of rich cigar smoke in the midst of the impressive crowd, but no smell of cigarettes. There are so many men of different shapes, sizes, and colors – all in suits – being tended to by beautiful women wearing an array of seductive apparel.

It's rather obvious that those girls who are quickly moving about from table to table and are wearing exactly what I'm wearing are the servers, while the girls who aren't dressed like me and who're lingering much longer with the clients – laughing, leaning, and smiling broadly are _the talent_.

Then I spy one girl dancing on top of a sitting older gentleman who dines alone, as several other men envy nearby. The woman wears a beaded headdress draped over a sassy dark bob. Her dress is entirely beaded also…that's if you can call it ' _a dress'_. In reality, its glorified beaded dental floss. I get an eyeful of two low-hanging smiles in the form of jiggling ass cheeks peering from underneath the beading as she stirs her hips. The swells of the sides of her full breasts are exposed each time she winds her arms in concert with her hips.

This girl really rides the pulsating dance rhythm – and _him_ – way better than Britney Spears did in her seductive _Toxic_ video. I'm hypnotized. I've never seen anyone move like that before. But what I'm witnessing is not even close to being dirty, raunchy, or lewd. _No_ …this girl is the epitome of poetry in motion. She's the very definition of it.

"Behold – _Bambi_ ," Becky utters into my ear. "She's the master talent here at Zion. Every dancer that comes on this floor is required to learn from _her_."

 _Wow._

I'm utterly speechless as I witness this girl's art. Becky's so kind to leave me be and lets me continue to take in _Master Bambi's_ work.

 _I wished I could do that._

….

I flop down on the living room sofa after a long day.

Classes in the morning.  
The ceaseless online job search in between.  
The long ass lunch line.

There was the discovery of the ad in search of _Smart Cuties_.  
The weird phone call followed by the nerve-wracking interview at The Heathman.

The shock of getting hired right on the spot.  
The scary neighborhood of a seemingly abandoned warehouse, then discovering all of glory that's lies within.  
The food service lingo…and tons of it.

Then there were the encounters with some of the most beautiful, smart and talented women I have ever seen. I simply can't get Bambi's seductive dance out of my head. Hell, every girl who danced out there tonight was better than _good_.

Meanwhile, I'll continue to work alongside Becky for the next three nights that I'm on the schedule. She was kind to let me take a little bit of the tips she earned while I trained with her. Her clients were really understanding and patient of _the new girl_. They absolutely adore Becky, so they were nice to me by default – _I feel_ , although I almost fell on my ass. _Twice_. I _really_ need to get used to walking all night in heels. Becky did mention that it'd take me lots of practice, especially since I'm not that used to wearing them.

Kate's not home yet, so I drag myself into my bathroom to shower and change before she sees me wearing my new uniform. If that were to happen, she'd absolutely pummel me until she gets all the answers – like the excellent reporter that she is.

 _I don't even want to go there with her._

….

The next night, I embark on _day two_ at Zion.

Becky introduced me to some of the girls who weren't there on my first day, both servers and talent. Elaine is a veteran server who's been here even longer than Becky. She actually trained Becky. In between following Becky, I watched as Elaine worked her magic on the clients. She's super attentive, thorough, and always smiling. The clients _love_ her.

 _"_ _Elaine – sugar…bring me my favorite gin. You know the kind."_ – one client called out.

Then there's Starla. According to Becky, she's one of Zion's most requested dancers. She's probably one of the most beautiful women I've ever seen. With thick blond curly hair, Starla is all legs in a red sparkly one-piece number that barely covers all of her unmentionables.

When Becky introduces us on the floor, Starla immediately hugs me – which I was not expecting _at all_. But then she darted from one client to the next, simply chatting and laughing it up with some, while seductively dancing for others. She does this until she eventually has to head back to _Private Row_ for a string of appointments. I barely even saw her for the rest of the night.

 _I have no idea what Private Row looks like, nor do I want to know._

Sweetness, the pintsized mocha skin-toned bartender is easily one of my most favorite people here at Zion. She's _very_ feisty and quick witted.

 _"_ _All these rich motherfuckers drink like fish. I'll keep on serving them until their livers shrivel up and blow away in this room like a Arizona haboob, as long as they keep on tipping me good."_ – she quipped as I waited for her to place the finished drinks on my round tray. I laughed so hard.

Bambi is on the floor for a second straight night. Becky officially introduced us earlier in the back of the house just outside of our boudoirs. Bambi's truly a dancer extraordinaire and I haven't ceased to be mesmerized by her. More than once, I caught myself staring at her dancing for way too long.

 _"_ _She's amazing, isn't she?"_ – Becky said to me when she saw me gawking.

Apparently, Bambi tutors all of the new talent.  
She even offered to teach me a few moves.

 _Me!_

But I told her that I was _no way_ a dancer.

 _"_ _I can make any girl look like a dancer, London Bridge. Let me know if you ever change your mind"_ – she beamed.

I pretty much told her – _Thanks, but no thanks._  
 _I'll just keep serving the food, thank you very much._

The clients were rather reverent of her, although some of them had the creepy-stare thing going on, which I can definitely relate to. And because there's the occasional super-weird client according to Becky, security is pretty tight and spread throughout the property to ensure that nothing crazy happens.

All in all, I feel rather safe here. The atmosphere is captivating, the girls are all beautiful and sweet, and the potential for me to earn enough money to pay for classes – both this semester and the next – is definitely there.

The tips I earned during the second night were very promising.

….

I catch myself falling asleep more than once during the hour and fifteen-minute class lecture.

The energy drink I downed beforehand might as well have been water. I stayed at Zion way longer than I needed to last night because I was too eager to keep learning the floor as well as well as the idiosyncrasies of the clientele. There are regulars that I already had the pleasure of meeting two nights in a row.

 _"_ _You're catching on, London girl. You'll be a pro in no time!"_ – one of them said to me. This guy looked to be about Ray's age. I find it rather strange that certain dudes my stepfather's age and older have a penchant for letting some half-dressed, strange girl rub up against them. But who am I to judge?

So this morning I'm functioning off of very little sleep, primarily from my own doing. I'm supposed to be off today, but by me being so green and newly addicted to the atmosphere of Zion, I told Becky and L-Mo that I'd come in tonight for just four hours.

 _Why London, why?_

Yes, I've been practicing calling myself by my alias in my head. It's because more than once, I almost corrected clients who called me the name showing on my nametag.

The moment my professor dismisses class I barrel the hell out of there.

"Hey, Ana," someone calls out to me as I exit the building.

It's José.

 _Jesus – not today._

"Hey José… _I_ …"

He winces at me. "What's up with you? You look exhausted."

"It's because I am. I need to run home and take a nap," I say as I rush on, but he continues to follow me.

"Look, I understand, but I really want to talk about what happened at your party. Ana, that will _never_ happen again. I _really_ want us to be friends again."

I stop in my tracks and abruptly turn to face him.  
"And I really don't feel like dealing with this right now," I sigh.

"You're upset at me…I get it. But we've known each other for years now, and you know that I've _never_ behaved like that. I was stupid and drunk."

"José," I groan. "What part of _I really don't feel like dealing with this right now_ are you not understanding?"

"Okay…okay," he acquiesces. "But I've been miserable since you've cut me off. You're one of my very best friends, Ana. I'm so desperate to work this out that I almost told Kate all about it…"

" _No_!" I snap. "Do _not_ bring her into this. She will fucking cut your balls off if she ever finds out what you did," I say in a stern warning.

He pretty much shrinks right before my very eyes.  
"Alright," he murmurs. "But promise me that we'll talk soon. _Okay_?"

I nod. " _Fine_. I've gotta go," I exhale before turning on my heel.

This time, he doesn't follow me.

….

I get home at midnight. I was glad that I showered and changed out of my uniform at work, because Kate's sitting right on the sofa facing me as I come in.

"Hey…where've you been?" she asks.

"At the library. I had tons of research to do," I tell her.

She frowns. "Research? For what?"

Her question takes me aback.  
 _Why is she asking for the particulars?_

"A paper for my lit analysis class," I throw out there.

"You couldn't do your research from home on the internet?"

 _Sweet lord, Kavanagh – let it go._

"First of all, I don't have a computer…"

"But you've been using mine," she kindly reminds me.

I sigh and swallow hard.  
 _Think, Steele…think._

"Yeah, but the library has all of the abstract databases that you can't access from home."

 _Brilliant._

"You needed to pull abstracts? _Shit_ – remind me _not_ to take that class during final semester," she groans.

And it's then when I know that she's finally going to take my word for it and move on to a different topic altogether. I also realize that I'm going to have to get even more creative with my excuses since I'll be coming home late every single work night. Kate believes that I still work at Clayton's, but she'll soon catch wind of the store closing down once the Claytons officially file for bankruptcy.

 _What will I tell her then?_

She'd never understand why I'm moonlighting at some posh, secret billionaire boy's club featuring exotic dancers. Then I'll be forced to tell her all about my financial woes, and _then_ she'll want to jump into the lake and rescue me from drowning. She'll even get her dad involved.

 _Oh no._

That's exactly what will happen because I _know_ Kate Kavanagh.  
She's a _helpless fixer_.

….

The following evening at work immediately came with the promise that there would _not_ be a single dull moment today.

" _Fuuuucckkk_ ," Elaine groans as she meets Becky and I in the servers' boudoir before the start of our shifts.

"What?" Becky winces in concern.

"I just saw that asshole Stefan Neumann come in, along with three of his friends who've I've never seen here before – at least the ones whose faces I caught," she says in misery.

" _Oh no_ ," Becky painfully gasps.

"Who's that?" I glance back and forth between the two girls.  
They temporarily ignore the clueless new girl.

"I just know that they're going to be a royal pain in my ass all night… _collectively_ ," Elaine says, rolling her eyes.

Wearing a sunken expression, Becky now turns to face me. "Stefan Neumann is a very powerful German businessman who now lives here in Portland. The bastard's filthy rich and is the stereotypical asshole who wants _exactly_ what he wants. He practically runs every girl in the joint ragged for _hours_ on end. And to make matters worse, he's a close personal friend of Mr. Dark's."

"Oh," I sigh.

Poor girls. Part of me knows that because I'm so new, I won't have to deal with this guy. But still, I can't help but feel terrible for them.

Suddenly, L-Mo comes breezing in.

"Thank God," she sighs. "You're here."

I'm uncertain if she's relived to see Elaine, Becky, or both.

"Mr. Neumann just got in," she announces.

"We know," frowns Elaine.

"We need all hands on deck, _now_ ," L-Mo issues out the order.

"Fuck," Becky groans.

"You too, London," L-Mo says.

I gape at her. "But this is only my fourth night on the floor. I haven't even started working solo yet." I begin to feel my body trembling in fear.

"I've been watching you. You're doing a spectacular job," L-Mo smiles proudly. "And besides, this will be good exposure for you."

She then turns to the other two girls. "We have a _major_ VIP conquest client in our midst right now. Mr. Dark wants us to take _extra great care_ of him. He's a _commuter_ , but if we make it worth his while, he'll continue to make the three hour trip here to see us," she grins.

"A _conquest_?" Elaine squints. " _Who_ – is it someone with Neumann?"

L-Mo nods. "Yep. Mr. Neumann brought along with him no other than _Mr. Christian Grey_."

She announces the name with much reverence and with eyes as round and bright as the sun, but all I can think is – ' _Who?'_

"Lord Jesus…" Elaine wheezes, clutching her imaginary pearls. She looks utterly awestruck.  
"Are you fucking serious?"

" _What!_ " Becky gapes simultaneously in extreme disbelief.  
"He's actually _here_? _Now_?"

Am I supposed to know who this guy is?  
Because I don't.

L-Mo grins and nods. "Mm hmm, and he's **_way_** prettier in person. We'll definitely have to bring out the big guns if we want to see more of him in the near future. It's his very first time here with us, so let's make it memorable. I even have Starla starting early tonight."

"And Bambi too… _holy shit_ ," Elaine lobs, apparently very anxious for the night to go perfectly as well.

"Yes, and I'm also clearing both of their schedules if need be. If Neumann or Grey wants them to dance in Private Row, Bambi and Starla's other appointments will be _eight-sixed_. Hell, if _I_ could dance, I would – for _Christian Grey_ , that is," smirks L-Mo. Both Elaine and Becky laugh out loud.

"Gotta run. Get out there as soon as you can," L-Mo calls back to us as she darts out of the room.

"I'm hoping that ogling at Christian Grey all night helps to softens the blow of me having to put up with _Mr. Sprechen Sie Douche_ ," Elaine quips as she rushes down L-Mo's same path. But before she leaves completely, she faces us one last time.

"Grey's young, brilliant, insanely rich, and sexy as sin to boot. I've heard stories about him," she grins fondly. "I only wish that he'd kidnap me and whisk me away to his palace in Seattle. A girl could only dream, right?" she giggles. "Well…I'll see you ladies out on the floor. We've got this – Neumann be damned!" she calls back in encouragement before she exits.

Becky is laughing hard before she lets out a dreamy sigh.

"Who's this VIP conquest?" I ask eagerly.

"All you need to know is that Christian Grey is a god on two legs," Becky utters, nearly panting.

" _O_ – _kaaayyy_ ," I drag out with a snort.

It's strange to witness three grown ass women completely lose their shit over some good-looking guy. I've seen plenty of attractive men in my life…some of them were even here at Zion. But I've _never_ lost my mind over one.

 _It's just a man._

Why am I not amused? Maybe it's because I've taken in so many books that poetically describe magnificent, hyper-romantic men, that my expectations are severely too high because of it. I've never met a man in real life that made me feel that he was anything other than _just a man_.

"Let me give you some perspective," she starts, catching perfect wind of my dismissal. "He was featured in GQ magazine's _Fifty Most Eligible Bachelors Under Thirty_ this year. There was one sexy, successful bachelor selected from each state. Grey was crowned _Mr. Washington_. And as far as I'm concerned, he by far surpasses the other forty-nine, _even_ Mr. Hawaii – and _Mr. Hawaii_ is more scrumptious than a pineapple," she growls, biting her lips.

"Well then," I laugh through my nose with pursed lips.

 _Yeesh._

"Grey dropped out of Harvard and started his company at the young age of twenty-one. That company is now a multi- _billion_ dollar global entity. He has a _huge_ headquarters in Seattle. And to think, a doctor and a lawyer adopted him when he was just a little boy. _Now_ look at him," Becky muses. Suddenly, she blinks out of her trance when she catches me staring strangely at her.

 _She. Is. Nuts._

"You can tell that I'm a _super fan_ , huh?" she blushes.

I giggle. "I'd say. I'll just let the girls who know more than me deal with that table, and I'll keep my distance. I wouldn't want to screw up the _VIP conquest opportunity_."

She clears her throat. "All joking aside, you'll probably want to stay far away from Neumann, anyways. He's rather um… _difficult_ …to say the least."

"I gathered as much," I smile.

"We'll keep you working with some of the regulars that already know you. Elaine, me, and the other long-timers will handle _Neumann and friends_."

"Sounds like a plan," I nod.

I'm a klutz, especially when I'm extremely nervous. Management wouldn't want me anywhere near their VIP clients tonight.

* * *

 ** _A/N: Faithful readers – You're back! I'M back!_**

 ** _What do you think of the story so far?_**

 ** _Sorry that this first chapter is so long. I needed time to set the stage for the rest of the tale. Don't expect future chapters to be this ridiculously long, haha!_**

 ** _Next – Chapter 2, tentatively titled "Attraction", will open up with Mr. Grey's point of view. Find out what he really thinks of Neumann, Zion, as well as the clumsy new girl. :)_**

 ** _You've heard of the saying "the customer's always right?" Well it's true, especially when the customer is a gorgeous young billionaire. If you are Facebook friends with me, you've already seen a preview of an upcoming interaction. ;)_**

 ** _Make sure you check out my Pinterest board for "A Private Dance" (storietella/a-private-dance) and see the inspiration for Zion as well as Ana's server uniform._**

 ** _I hope to take you on yet another fun journey.  
Thanks so much for reading! – ST2 _**


	2. Chapter 2 - Attraction

**Chapter 2 – Attraction**

CHRISTIAN

This is bullshit.

I'm stuck in fucking Portland, Oregon on a Friday night, when I should be either flying or driving home to Seattle and enjoying a full and fulfilling weekend.

Instead I have to play schmoozer – which isn't a game I'm very good at, all because I'm eager to snatch up SNA Corp. Normally my head of M&A would be out here tending to this shit. But SNA Corp's owner and founder Stefan Neumann is a Grade A prick whose pride will not allow him to deal with anyone else other than the man at the top of the food chain.

 _"_ _Grey, I want to see you face to face before I sign anything. Come here to Portland. Let's have a beer. My father always used to say that if a man can't sit and have a beer with you, he is not to be trusted. I want to know if I can trust you to do the right thing with my business once I sell it to you."_

He knows good and damn well what I plan on doing with his business after it's absorbed under the GEH umbrella. The forty-page market plan proposal was hand delivered to him and his staff with all of the details spelled out.

Neumann knows my track record. I'm not new to this. For over six years, I've been taking companies that were hemorrhaging cash and turning them into viable, very profitable entities. He knows what I can do, and part of me believes that I'm the only logical candidate for his cash-poor business.

However, Neumann's a very prideful man. He knows he fucked his business up, but he'd never admit it. He just continues to prance around like his shit doesn't stink; treating everyone who he feels is beneath him like they're a waste of space. And when he finally meets his match, he's anxious to prove how much he's just as powerful as they are.

Case in point – when I flew in this morning to meet Neumann and team for our nine o'clock meeting, he spent the entire time cutting off his managers as they presented me with data.

 _"_ _That's not all NAFTA data!"_ – he barked. _"I see traces of South America in that!"_

 _"_ _Sir, that was the NAFTA total as of two days ago"_ – his forecasting manager retorted.

 _"_ _False! Don't come to me with that shit!"_ – Neumann growled before dismissing him and calling on a completely different manager.

I cringe thinking about how much he tried to portray _the big guy with the huge hanging ball sack_. But any true leader knows that _One_ – You _always_ review _any_ data first before it goes out, and _Two_ – You never curse out your employees in front of guests. It's very poor leadership etiquette.

The rest of the day was all the same with Neumann yelling at his staff in my presence. Then there was the occasional off-color joke behind someone's back – as if that would impress me. The entire experience was unsettling.

After all was said and done, I figured that Neumann and a couple of his managers along with myself would go somewhere nearby SNA Corp's headquarters to go grab that beer that he was so hell bent on us getting. Then afterwards, I'd be on my merry way back to Seattle.

 _"_ _We're just grabbing beer, right?"_ – I said.

 _"_ _And a hearty meal as well. No worries, Grey. Dinner's on me"_ – Neumann insisted.

 _"_ _I appreciate it but I've only allotted just enough time for a beer. I'll need to head straight home to Seattle afterwards. I was hoping that we could finalize our agreement before I leave."_

He narrowed his eyes at me and said – _"Why the rush? Besides, I'm not signing anything tonight. Gibbs needs the weekend to finalize the totals. I was hoping that we could concluding everything Monday."_

 _Fucking Monday?!_

Just thinking about it makes me want to connect my fist with Neumann's annoying mouth all over again.

 _"_ _My schedule's already shot being that you insisted on me being here all day today. Now you're asking me to adjust my Monday commitments?"_ – I said to him, not showing a single ounce of amusement. I was beside myself.

 _"_ _My apologies Grey, but I promise that it'll all be worth your while if you give us 'til noon Monday. GEH is the only logical solution for SNA, but I need to make sure that all of our ducks are in a row before I sign anything."_

 _Well, fucking sign the agreement and stop wasting my time._

Needless to say, I was already in a sour mood when Neumann, Brian Gibbs – his VP of sales, and Tyler Bergen – his GM of innovative technologies, and myself all climbed into Neumann's chauffeured black Cadillac SUV and headed for dinner.

I had absolutely no motivation to tag along once Neumann told me that he wouldn't be signing anything. However, I know many assholes like Neumann. The second I turn him down he'll refuse ever to sign anything. So I'm pretty much at his mercy until Monday at noon.

"Why the long face, Grey? Cheer up," Neumann says with his heavy German accent as we sit side-by-side inn the second row. Bergen and Gibbs sit in the last row behind us.

 _I'll cheer up only if I could repeatedly slap the shit out of you until you cave and sign the contract._

"Hey Fight Club," Neumann says as he turns to face Bergen. "What do you think about cheering up Mr. Grey tonight?"

Before Neumann moved here from Deutschland, his primary reference to American culture was from television and the movies. So if anyone remotely has a name that reminds him of a film or sitcom, he grips onto that shit like a weapon and bashes that person's skull in. It's beyond irritating.

"Sir?" Bergen says with a severely puzzled expression.

The poor bastard, having to put up with being called _'Fight Club'_ by the worst boss ever to be ever called a boss. It's equally as unfortunate that the last names Durden and Bergen sound a hell of a lot alike, especially when you throw in the name _Tyler_ in front of it.

"You men are all in for a treat. Get ready for the best prime rib you'll ever have. And that's not the only good thing you'll experience where we're going," Neumann purrs like a sick cat.

Gibbs eyes suddenly grow big and round. "Sir, are you talking about _the place_?"

I have no idea what they're fucking talking about, but I'm rather certain I won't like wherever we're going.

"Does that mean you're in, Gibby?" Neumann smirks like the Cheshire cat.

"Hell yeah," he says giddily.

"Good man." Neumann then turns to me. "Grey, have you ever had the pleasure of making patronage to Zion?"

I narrow my eyes at him.

 _Oh God no._

Not _that_ place. Many have tried to get me to go there for _years_. So yes, I've heard of it and I've _never_ been interested. And although my friend Elena's ex has been a satisfied frequent customer in the past, many others have told me that it's complete bullshit.

Besides, strip clubs, burlesque joints or the like aren't my thing. The places I normally frequent, or rather _used to_ , aren't dick teases like this one. Zion is a glorified steakhouse masquerading as a bunny ranch, except these girls won't fuck you.

But there's someone else there who will.

"Are you familiar with Mr. Jay Dark from Portland?" Neumann says, right on cue.

"He's a restaurateur. I believe he's a silent partner for many other global businesses," I respond.

"That's the guy. He also has full control of a business that not many have heard about. I'm surprised no one has ever brought you to Zion yet," he hums with a shit-eating grin.

And there it is – Neumann with the big floppy balls. He thinks that he finally knows something that I don't. But what he doesn't know is that I already know about Zion and its slimy owner, and I couldn't give two shits about either one.

Ros, my VP was very smart to pass up on this trip to Portland. She knows that Neumann is a sleaze ball. Now it's all up to me to close this deal on Monday. I'll just have to take it on the chin tonight and tag along to the 4D version of _Showgirls_ and endure Neumann and his two flunkeys jacking off to mediocre waitresses and dancers.

 _I'm certain that Madison would put them all to shame._

"The women of Zion are very beautiful," he says, kissing the tips of his clustered thumb, forefinger and middle finger as if he's describing a succulent meal. It's repulsing.  
"If you see anything you like, perhaps I can buy you a dance for dessert, yah?"

"Thanks, but no thanks," I quickly turn him down.

"You'll change your mind, I assure you," he remarks with way too much confidence.

I don't do strippers or other bimbos who like to tease. I prefer women that I can touch – _or spank_. In fact, I have a faithful submissive back home whom I had to ditch tonight, all because of _this_ douche nozzle.

I just want to go home to my apartment.

….

As we stand outside of a rusty old warehouse, Neumann turns and looks back at the three of us as he lazily fights off a proud grin. He then faces the door and knocks twice.

"Yes," male's voice answers on the other side.

"The red pill," Neumann says in his native inflection.

The door swings open and a giant grumbles, "Free your mind."

That was the moment I realized Jay Dark didn't have an original bone in his body. No doubt he _'borrowed'_ the premise of his business from _The Matrix_.

 _Imbecile._

The inside is as pristine as I would expect an underground gentlemen's club for wealthy assholes to look. When the four of us file in, Neumann makes a beeline straight to the main counter where a scantily clad blonde and brunette immediately greet him.

"Mr. Neumann," one of them sparkles.

"Welcome back, Mr. Neumann," the other chimes.

" _Hallo_ , my gorgeous girls. Is Jay in today?"

"I'll give him a ring," says the brunette as she picks up the phone.

Both Gibbs and Bergen are about to piss their pants as if they've never seen attractive women dressed in little or nothing before. If I didn't think they'd lose their damn minds, I'd show them what a _real_ club looked like. But I'm fairly certain that my contacts wouldn't fancy someone as indiscrete as Neumann in their establishment.

As the woman speaks on the phone, Neumann turns around and faces us, but he mostly addresses me. "I need to be certain Jay takes special care of us. I want his best girls on the floor tonight."

Internally, I roll my eyes. Neumann is definitely playing the _big shot card_ right now.  
It's pitiful to watch.

As we wait, the giant at the door lets in someone else. It's another blonde who apparently works here. However, she's wearing a little more clothing than the two girls behind the counter. The new arrival catches an eyeful of Neumann without him noticing and then blanches before rushing away behind the counter and through the back door without saying a word.

The other blonde who's on the phone suddenly hangs up. "Mr. Neumann, Mr. Dark is on his way up to meet you now. Would you gentlemen like to have a seat?"

"No, we'll stand. Thank you," he smiles creepily.

I know immediately what's in store once we are seated for dinner. There will be many more off-color remarks from Neumann about women, along with a lot of him pushing weight because he personally knows the owner.

 _I can't_ _ **wait**_ _to take his company from under him and fire his ass._

It takes a few beats, but I eventually realize that the two women behind the counter are now gazing at me. One of them even has her mouth open. I blink.

 _It's just a pretty face, girls.  
You have one, too._

"Sir, I'm sorry to ask…but are you Christian Grey?" the brunette says, practically sighing with stars in her eyes. The blonde bats her lashes and matches her colleague's hungry expression.

 _Christ, I don't have time for this._

"Of course, he is! _And_ he's _my_ very special guest tonight, girls," Neumann says boisterously. He turns and walks back to me. "Grey, stop being so modest," he ribs and pats me on the back. I freeze.

 _Hands off, fucker._

"Neumann," a tall and slightly overweight balding man in a white dress shirt and a navy vest and suit pants greets.

"Jay my good man! How have you been?" Neumann pours on like molasses.

Dark comes around the counter and shakes his hand.

"Very well. Welcome back." Dark then looks to us. "Who are your friends?"

Neumann quickly introduces his VP and GM. "And over here we have a special guest from Seattle," he says, turning to me.

"It's Christian Grey!" the brunette excitedly blurts out from behind the counter. When we all turn and gape at her, she cowers. "Sir," she appends at the end, as if that were her only error.

Dark's frown fades as he steps towards me and extends his hand.

"Mr. Grey, I know all about you and your extraordinary work."

We shake and I nod. "Thank you."

"My pleasure. Glad you stopped by Portland and decided to pay us a visit. I certainly hope that this won't be your last time here at Zion. We're open twenty-four seven, so you are more than welcome to stop by whenever you like." Dark then turns to Neumann. "And you don't even need to bring this brute back with you," he jabs.

"Oh Jay," Neumann says with a belly laugh, "you prick."

I cringe.

"Here's my card, Mr. Grey," Dark says, handing it to me. "If you need absolutely anything at all, no matter what time of day, don't hesitate to call. That's my personal number. I can count on two hands the number of people who have it. My own mother doesn't have that number," he quips with a douchey chuckle.

And this card will more than likely feed a hungry incinerator at The Heathman tonight. That's _if_ it even makes out of this building. _You should've given it to your mother instead._

"Sure," I say, quickly putting it away in my pocket. I know my gesture isn't standard business card etiquette. I definitely wouldn't have done that to a Japanese colleague. But I wanted to give the impression that I'm not here because I want to be. Therefore, I certainly won't be back.

Dark then turns to Neumann. "I'll call L-Mo to show you to your table."

 _Elmo?_ What the fuck? I'm sure once I see what Zion has to offer, it might as well be Sesame Street.

"Excellent," Neumann beams. "I was just going to ask you how the gorgeous lady was doing."

 _Ah. Elmo's female._

"You can ask her yourself," the pricky proprietor gruffs.

Soon enough, a very attractive older ginger in a business suits appears from behind the counter. Dark meets her and whispers discretely. Neumann then turns to me.

"He's making certain that L-Mo takes really good care of us. She's his manager who only comes out for VIP clients," he says in a sure bragging way. My stomach churns.

"The lap dances are sublime. Even before I permanently relocated to Portland, I used to come here often to partake. Although there are many other wonderful places around the world where you can go to not only get a lap dance from a very beautiful girl, but they also give you _other_ nice things, too," he hums with a slithery grin.

I narrow my eyes in distaste. Those times I felt like an animal – a sexual deviant, Neumann has just negated that. Unlike him, I've never been so indiscrete.

"But this place definitely has its charm," he says too quickly. "And the food is spectacular. I love it here. Are you sure this is your first time?" he asks, astounded by very fact.

"Yeah, I'm sure," I practically groan.

 _And last._

….

Inside, the Elmo lady who was especially friendly to me sits us at a table with a prime view of a vacant stage. However, the action is apparently here on the floor as I scan around and witness other men in suits all around getting rubbed and grinded on by all sorts of provocatively dressed women.

As one of the many girls who concludes dancing for guests walks by our table, Neumann abruptly reaches out and slaps her square on the ass. The girl's eyes grow wide in shock, but once she sees that Neumann's the source she blushes before frolicking off. Neumann laughs with a grating cackle.

 _Fucking asshole._

"You should get a lap dance, yah?" he leans over and says to me.

Not this again.

"I'll pass."

"You don't like lap dance?" he says in his rough German accent.

"Not really. I don't care to be teased." _I'm the one who does the teasing.  
_ "I prefer to touch my women," I say point blank.

He laughs, "You and I have a lot in common, Grey."

The difference is that I prefer to touch women with their permission, fuckwit.

"Nonetheless, you should have a dance. It'll be good, I promise."

He's beyond pitiful begging a grown man to accept a lap dance.  
 _Is he a twisted voyeur of some sort?_

"Look…I know you acquired your first few billion dollars not long ago," he starts in a new pompous tirade.

"Four years ago," I snap.

"When I made my first billion, you were still playing with your Sega game, yah?" he says smugly.

"Excuse me?" I glower.

 _You motherfucker.  
Keep it up and you will see me finally lose my patience._

"Point is, you won't even scratch the surface as one of the top fifty global leaders until you hit your next billion dollar milestone."

Says the asshole who's not even in the top one hundred ranking. At twenty-seven, I've only been in business for six years and I've already surpassed archaic assholes like Neumann who've been aimlessly grinding their gears for five times longer.

"But I know that our proposed deal has the strength to get you there," he says too smugly.

What in the fuck is he getting at? Is he trying to dangle a carrot over my head? Is he using idle threats so I'll accept a fucking lap dance?

Neumann is completely missing the point. My business has never been about financial gain – even though it has exceedingly reaped those benefits. You can have all the money in the world, but if you don't know how to work the system, it will fuck you.

For me, the endgame has always been about control. If Neumann doesn't already know this, he will soon find out the moment I take his company away from him and treat him exactly how he's treating these girls.

"Baby face," Neumann spurts out to another girl before she speeds away. This time it's a petite bouncy ponytailed redhead who's practically prancing on stilts as opposed to stilettos. She's wearing a waitress uniform and her nametag reads _Becky_.

"Mr. Neumann," she utters – and it's as if the principal caught her skipping class.

"Why don't you call our assigned waitress here, yah?"

"Yes, Mr. Neumann," she says subserviently and hops to it. I sensed her immediate relief that his request wasn't more.

"What's good here?" Bergen inquires as he drools over dozens of attractive women in his line of sight instead of the menu.

"Everything, Fight Club… _everything_!" Neumann boisterously exclaims.

 _Christ, help me._ – I groan to myself.

The blonde that I saw rushing into the lobby earlier approaches the table. Her nametag reads _Elaine_.

"Mr. Neumann, welcome back," she greets him before turning to the other two men. "Mr. Bergen, Mr. Gibbs." When she faces me, her cheeks slowly turn red. The tone of her voice also changes. "Mr. Grey, welcome to Zion. Can I start you off with something to drink?"

"Gin and tonic," I say on the mark. _And plenty of it. I'm going to need it in order to deal with the asshole sitting next to me._

"I'll take one of those, too Seinfeld," Neumann says to her with flirty eyes.

 _Seinfeld?_

I can tell that the blonde is rather annoyed, but she hides it well.

"Jack and Coke," says Bergen.

"Vodka-cranberry," Gibbs requests.

"I'll get those right away," she beams.

As she ventures off, Neumann shamelessly gawks at her ass and licks his chops.  
I'm _this-close_ to ripping him a new one.

"Sir," Gibbs addresses Neumann. "Why _Seinfeld_?"

Neumann frowns, looking slightly appalled. "Have you not watched the American classic TV show _Seinfeld_ with Jerry Seinfeld?"

" _Y_ …yes Sir…" Gibbs stammers.

"So you know the character Elaine, yes?"

Gibbs clears his throat. "Yes Sir, but…"

Neumann cuts him off. "You've seen the show then. So you should've gotten the joke," he snaps with a disappointed squint.

These two idiots are beyond painful to watch.

" _Elaine_ …Elaine's last name on the show…"

"Excuse me?" Neumann glares.

"Never mind," Gibbs says, quickly dropping the subject like a hot potato.

In spite of arguing with Stupid – from what I've seen all morning in meetings, Gibbs appears to be a half decent employee. Company sales are exceptional, so that isn't the weak spot. The smart thing to do would be to overhaul finance and operations while continuing to strengthen sales, and Gibbs would be key in me doing that.

So if I could right now, I'd assure Gibbs that he won't have to put up with Neumann's bully bullshit for too much longer. But I keep quiet and silently plot how I'm going to throw Neumann out on his ass the moment he signs SNA Corp over to me.

When an Asian waitress stops by to fill up our water glasses, Neumann is just as revolting with her, too.

"You have a very nice figure, young lady. You should be dancing."

She tries her best not to give him direct eye contact as she pours water into the next glass. I truly feel sorry for these girls having to deal with Neumann and his assholery. The girl soon leaves us and serves the next table.

"You may have seen me transgress earlier. For example, I wasn't supposed to hit that beautiful girl's ass," Neumann comes clean to the entire table.

"I figured as much," I scowl.

"But I know Lucy. She's danced for me a few times. We're friends," he says in his own defense. Although somehow I don't believe in his interpretation of _'friendship'_.

"Otherwise, one of those big men you saw in the lobby when we came here would've dragged me out. Jay doesn't take too kindly to that," he concludes.

I wish security had kicked him out. I'm getting sick of watching his ridiculous display.

Neumann leans in closer to the table and whispers loudly over the music.  
"You can't spank the girls' ass in this club, but if you tip them very well in the private dance room, they might let you smell their pussy."

At this point, I am completely beyond hiding my contempt for this man. Even his subordinates look shocked. I've prided myself in not being a pig, especially not in a business setting. I believe your personal sexual preferences should be something very private. You should never disclose those sorts of things with business colleagues. I never mix business with pleasure.

I am more determined than ever to acquire SNA Corp on Monday and setting those employees free from this monster. I need to play it cool just for three more days. I quickly grab my drink that another girl just placed in front of me and guzzle it before looking over to the side.

I spot a long-haired brunette two tables over wearing one of those server's dresses. She's giggling along with a customer. Suddenly she looks up and we lock eyes.

 _Well, well, well._

She doesn't look like any of the others who work here. While the other girls look more seasoned and certain that they belong here, I don't quite see the same with her. She looks young…probably barely twenty-one. In those milliseconds, time itself appears to stand still as I ponder how this girl ended up in a place like this.

 _Yeah…She definitely doesn't belong here._

As we continue to gaze at one another, I feel the corners of my mouth curling upward.

 _What are you looking at, shy girl?_

Quickly, the now blushing girl turns her head and takes off to somewhere else. And as she ventures to wherever she has to go, I idly wonder if she'll stop by here and ask us if we need anything, much like the many other different girls who have already done so.

But I quickly get a rush of dread and hope that she never comes to this table. I wouldn't want Neumann getting grabby with her, too. If he did, I probably wouldn't be able to stop myself this time from socking the shit out of him.

 _Why do you suddenly feel so protective of her, Grey?_

Not too long afterwards, the redhead named Becky returns.

"Ready to order, Sirs?"

….

During dinner, I continued to scope the floor to see if I could find that brown-haired girl again. I was treated several times. Even in that dress, I can tell that she has a very lovely shape.

 _Down, Grey. You're just as bad as Neumann._

Becky and friends have been extremely attentive of us. When she stops by the table with our drink refills, she realizes that our water glasses are running low.

"I'll grab you water," she says.

"Quick, Becky! We're dying of thirst, here!" Neumann says with exaggeration. However I don't get the impression that Becky knows that he's bullshitting her. She darts off but stops as soon as she sees the brunette holding a water pitcher. The redhead says something to the brunette and the latter's eyes nearly bulge out of their sockets. Then the redhead speaks again before gently tugging the other girl's free arm and guiding her over to our table. When the brunette looks up at me, she freezes.

 _Oh…she's even more alluring up close._

"Becky, darling," Neumann prompts the redhead. "Tell us something good."

As Becky starts to talk, I finally get a glimpse of the brunette's nametag.

London.

 _London with the pretty blue eyes.  
Mmm…so many things are running through my head right now._

As I blink myself out of my stupefied trance, I watch as she remembers herself as well and sets to pour spring water into all of the empty glasses at the table, starting with Gibbs'.

"We'll be ready to schedule our dances soon," Neumann tells Becky.

The moment the words are spoken, London is standing at my side holding the aluminum pitcher with both hands. As she begins to pour into my glass, I study her. Her arms are shaking.

 _Why so nervous, London?_

"Any idea who you gentlemen would like?" Becky asks.

It's then when London's and my eyes meet again. She tilts the pitcher just a little too far and water splashes onto my lap. She jumps.

"Oh my God…I…I'm so…" She's flustered, yet I let out a chuckle as I quickly dab my lap with a cloth napkin.

"No, it's…it's fine," I tell her.

Yet, there's a commotion going on around me.

Becky is freaking out.  
London is freaking out.

Normally such clumsiness would perturb me, but I'm rather amused at the moment. This young girl looks severely out of place more than anyone else right now. She's positively mortified.

Soon, she grabs another cloth napkin nearby and helps me pat down my lap.  
I look up at her.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry…I'm _sooo_ sorry…" she stutters.

 _You have no idea where your hands are about to touch, do you?_

"It's okay. It's only water," I reassure her.

Neumann's cackling, but I ignore him.

" _I...I_ …" London stammers.

She's still patting down my lap not knowing that she's essentially touching my dick. It's the combination of that and looking at her sweet, frightened face that I start to get just a little aroused.

 _Be careful. You might find a surprise if you keep doing that._

It must've finally dawned on her what she was doing. Abashed, she stops before suddenly scurrying away towards the back.

"Mr. Grey, I'm _so_ sorry," Becky grovels. "London is new…"

"It's fine," I grin. " _Really_. It was only a drop of water. Tell London it's okay."

"London is a very pretty girl, yah?" Neumann hums. "She'll do fine here. She just needs to pour the water into the glass and not in the lap," he laughs, pushing the other two men at the table to laugh at his lame ass joke. They both humor him since he's the one signing their paychecks.

….

In the next twenty minutes, I don't see a single trace of London. I'm a little disappointed.

"You ready for that dance, Grey?"

I frown. "I'd rather not."

"You don't want to miss out, I assure you," he taunts.

Neumann then turns to the other two men to gauge who they want to dance for them. I've watched the atmosphere off an on and I have to say that these girls are not half bad. What they do here is more seductive entertainment than kink. And the food was appetizing, yet familiar tasting featuring recognizable unique flavors – almost to the point where I'm certain I'd be able to guess which celebrity chef had an influence back in the secret kitchen.

The second I catch London resurfacing and heading towards the other side of the room to assist other guests, I nearly perk up.

 _Calm down, Grey._

I don't know why I'm ridiculously obsessing over this girl right now.

"See something you like, Grey?" Neumann utters, catching my eyes following the young waitress around.

I ignore him.

It's getting rather late. Perhaps I'll text Taylor and then stay in Portland for the night. If I'm still here tomorrow, maybe I'll stop by to see if my favorite heavy-handed waitress is on the schedule.

Hell, I don't even understand my appeal with this girl, but I'm highly inclined to see her again. Perhaps I could ask why she's here. Find out what went wrong in her life for her to end up working in a place like this. Don't get me wrong, Zion is classy enough – it's just that she's not like any of the other girls who work here. The only reason she's here has to be because she's down on her luck.

The look in her eyes tells me that she'd rather be any place but here.

"Fuck this waiting," Neumann grumbles. "I'm going to get my a private dance now."

"Who are you going with?" Bergen eagerly asks.

"Jay has arranged for me to see Starla," Neumann says, practically drooling.

"Shit," Gibbs sighs with envy.

"Too bad, Gibby boy…you'll have to pick another girl. I highly recommend Bambi. She is excellent. I would've chose her if I didn't get Starla."

"The brunette?" Gibbs says too eagerly. Neumann nods suggestively, and I'm peeved.

"Becky, sweetheart..." he calls her over from the other table just before she moves too far.  
"I have the VIP room tonight, but do you have three other private rooms available for my mates here?"

"Sure, Mr. Neumann."

"Three of your best, yah?" He turns at the table and scans the rest of us. "Men, tell Becky who you want…"

Fuck this. I cut him off. "Look Neumann, I'm good…."

He then cuts me off. "No way, Grey. I told you…you're getting a dance." He turns his attention back to the girl. "Hey…who's that sweet young thing who was helping you bring out water earlier? The one with the slippery fingers," he laughs.

 _Oh.  
Her._

This might not be such a bad idea after all.

"London? Oh, no Sir…she's not…"

Neumann cuts her off. "Ah yes… _London_. Why don't you get the lovely Miss London in a private room with my friend Mr. Grey here? And if you do that, there's a stack in it for the both of you. _Each_."

She gapes at him. "You want both of us…"

"No, just London. You'll simply procure a finders fee, yah?"

Neumann is going to blow two grand just for one girl to give me a private dance? Part of me is appalled. I can definitely afford to pay for my own dance.

The girl nearly loses her natural mind at the generous offer. "Sure, I'll go talk to her…"

"Tell her I'll add another rack on top of what Mr. Neumann so graciously agreed to pay her," I blurt out.

 _Shit, Grey. What's gotten into you?_

Becky now looks like she's about to pass out, but she doesn't hesitate and hastily runs away, holding up a finger to assure her return.

"Damn Grey, it didn't take much for you to reconsider. Maybe London will let down her bridge for you…if you know what I mean," Neumann slithers.

I don't do vanilla sex, nor do I engage in sex outside of my… _arrangements_. However, I am intrigued by this girl. I'm curious to know why she works here. If I have to pay one thousand dollars to settle a curiosity, so be it. And if she's worth what Neumann and I are paying her, then perhaps she'll get me aroused enough to want to make this weekend with Madison especially wild.

I can't shake London's sweetness and innocence out of my mind. It's drawing me to her like a moth to a flame for some illogical reason. If nothing else, she'll be unimpressive in the private room and I'll quickly get over her allure because let's face it, she's a waitress and not a dancer.

Best of all, I'll finally get shitty Neumann off my back.

* * *

ANA

 _Argh!_ – I cringe internally.

I've been doing the exact same motions for the past half hour since making a complete idiot out of myself. I hate myself because I couldn't stop myself from foaming at the mouth from the very sight of him.

Hell, Christian Grey's even better looking than Becky described. That mass of gorgeous messy copper sex hair along with his stern but sultry, smoky gray eyes. Those strong arms protruding from his gray suit jacket. He is the epitome of _sex on legs_.

But why is a man like that even here? He doesn't ever need to be at a place like Zion. Men like Christian Grey fight droves of women off with sticks every day before lunch. I could've sworn when I first saw him seated at his table that he looked mostly bored. He didn't appear to be as happy to be here, unlike the other three men in his company. Therefore, I figured that Mr. Neumann must've drug him here against his will.

 _And then he saw me looking at him._

I could just punch myself for being just as ridiculous as all of the other girls on the floor who've been jockeying to be in his very presence. I fucking spilled water on him and I tried to wipe it from his lap!

 _Dumb, dumb Ana!_

Although I would've never had a shot in hell with Christian Grey – I'm a waitress after all and not the talent – I most certainly didn't redeem myself by being a complete klutz at his expense.

Before I can continue to wallow in my own self-pity, Elaine joins me by the kitchen as I sulk and wait on the food order for table nine.

"Fucking asshole! If he calls me _Seinfeld_ one more damn time," she growls.

 _Seinfeld?_ – I blink in confusion, while Les, one of the line cooks joins in.

" _Newman_ was in Seinfeld, but you don't hear me calling him _Seinfeld_!" Elaine angrily rants.

"But I think he spells it differently. I could be wrong," Les adds, not being the least bit helpful.

While Elaine's not having Mr. Neumann's shit, I wished I could be more of comfort to her. However, I continue to camp out in utter embarrassment and despair because not too long ago, I totally fucked up and spilled water all over Christian Grey. And then I had the nerve to try and wipe it up and instead I was feeling him up.

 _Mr. Grey is going to tell Mr. Dark and I'm going to get fired.  
Stupid, stupid me!_

Suddenly, Becky comes rushing back looking tentative.

"London, what table are you waiting on?" she says with urgency.

I flash her a concerned gaze. "Nine…why?"

Becky then turns to Elaine.  
"Elaine, I hate to do this, but could you handle _nine_ for London? Mr. Neumann just requested her."

 _He what?!_ I gape at her.  
 _Me?!_

It's already started. First Mr. Neumann calls me over to tell me how much of a dolt I am for spilling water all over his guest. Then I'll get the pleasure of meeting Mr. Dark for the very first time. But he won't be the least bit friendly with me, I'm sure.

And although Elaine gapes as well, a flood of relief immediately follows as it dawns on her that she's been relieved of Neumann. As my entire world collapses, she happily asks no questions.

"Sure thing," she peps. And that moment, a tray with table nine's food timely slides across the counter and she happily catches it. "Later!" she beams and then quickly runs off.

 _Fuck._

"Why does Mr. Neumann want _me_?" I say with a shaky voice.

Becky starts to reply, but instead she takes me by the arms and pulls me further away from Les and the kitchen.

"So look, here's the deal. The request came from Neumann, but it's not _for_ Neumann," she smiles wide.

 _Why in the hell is she smiling?  
_ I'm so confused right now.

"What do I need to do? And for whom?" I ask nervously.

"So _,_ you might not like this. _Wait_ …scratch that. You might love it. I know I would if I were in your shoes. Oh God…I truly hate you right now," she says giddily.

I'm certain I'm eyeing her as if she were clinically insane.

"Okay, okay," she acquiesces with a giggle. "So, Mr. Neumann wants you to dance…"

My stomach drops.

"What!" I shout so loud that I know everyone in the kitchen and some of the floor can hear me. "No way!"

"London, just listen…"

"I'm not doing it! I'm a _server_! Where's L-Mo?" I seethe.

"I know," she says in placation, "I know. But Neumann doesn't want you to dance on the floor, nor does he want you to dance for _him_ for that matter."

 _Okay, I'm lost here.  
_ So what is it he's asking me for?

Becky softly places a hand on my shoulder and leans in closer. And while my chest feels like it's about to cave in, she's all teeth and looks as if she has the best news ever right on the tip of her tongue.

"Neumann just arranged for private rooms for all three of his guests, and he has requested that _you_ dance for none other than Christian Grey."

I stop breathing.

No. This can't be real. This has to be a joke.  
Neumann's been giving everyone shit all night.  
This has to be his sick idea of a joke.

 _I freaking spilt water on the man for fuck's sake!_

I start on a rampage. "I am _not_ participating in Neumann's sick game…"

Becky cuts me off. "Mr. Grey agreed. He wants you to dance for him," she says with a proud smile.

 _Holy cow._

I nearly pass out.

"No! I don't dance! I _can't_ dance," I cry out frantically.

"Look – all you have to do is grind your waist to the beat. Maybe even rub your cookies all over his leg."

My mouth is agape. "What?!"

Oh, hell no. I am _not_ doing this shit. I'll quit. I don't care how hot and rich that guy is.  
I am _no_ skeezer.

Becky sighs and hands me a small device tethered to a long chain. It's a black little nub about two inches long. On one end if it sits a red button.

"We have a hands-off policy here. Granted, some of the girls are nice enough to let the clientele touch them in certain places without anyone else knowing…if the price is right," she smirks.

I am even more petrified as she tries to soothe the blow. "Look, security will be outside of the private rooms at all times. They will remind him before you two go behind closed doors that he can't put his hands on you. The second you hit that button, security will burst right in there. We run a safe establishment and all of our clients are very high profile, so they don't want any trouble whatsoever. You'll be safe and you'll make a ton of money in the process."

My eyes narrow. "A ton of money? What's the going rate for a private dance anyway?"  
Not that it matters anyway, because I'm not doing it.

Becky smiles wide. "A dancer just starting out can make about fifty for a thirty minute session."

I frown. _I can make that working as a server. I don't need to dance for fifty dollars._  
Becky apparently picks up on my disinterest.

"Now that doesn't include tip, but still… that's for the average girl just starting out as a dancer here. But _you_ are not the average girl, baby doll," she highly praises. "Even veterans usually pull two hundred a session. If they're booked back to back, they can easily take home a rack at the end of the night."

I gape at her. "A rack? What's that?"

She laughs. "A _grand_ , London. One thousand dollars. Geez, you're clueless and way too innocent."

Not for the first time today, I'm utterly embarrassed.

"See. I told you I can't do this. I didn't even know what a rack was."

She eases up on me somewhat. "It doesn't matter. You know good and goddamn well what one thousand in cash is."

"But I'm not a veteran."

"Fuck all of that," she sighs. "Look, the both of them are willing to pay you a total of twice the **_daily_** going rate of a veteran dancer for going outside of your normal job duties for just _thirty minutes_. Do you _hear_ me, London?" she says as if she wants to take me into her arms and shake me.

I start to hyperventilate.

"Oh my God," I pant. My mouth is agape.

 _Two thousand dollars?!  
Why? Why __**me**_ _?_

What is this man's game? Is this his way of punishing me for spilling water on his lap and essentially patting down his junk?

"You didn't mishear me," Becky says with special emphasis. She looks elated as if there's something personally in it for her. "Two grand, mama. You are going to get two thousand in cash _guaranteed_ for spending just thirty minutes in Private Row with _Mr. Washington Hottie_. And he can't lay one finger on you. All he can do is watch that gorgeous face while that sexy body of yours slow winds to Ludacris."

I sense all of the blood rushing away from my face. My body is trembling. I've never been so terrified in all my life. _And this man is willing to pay me more than what I make in a month in just thirty minutes to do this?_

I feel like someone is telling me to deliver a mysterious package to some mob boss. I am literally freaking out here. This can't be good. This isn't normal.

But the fact remains: I'm fucking desperate. I have to come up with a shit ton of money in order to stay in school. This two grand will get me to my goal a hell of a lot quicker.

Becky's smile still overtakes her entire face. "I know you're considering it because you're not saying a word. Two grand for thirty minutes is a hell of a lot of scratch. I fucking envy you right now…I really do. I wished Mr. Christian Grey wanted _me_ ," she pouts.

Hell, so do I. Then I wouldn't be faced with making the tough choice of selling my soul just to make two thousand dollars in thirty minutes.

 _Get a grip, Steele.  
It's only a dance. _

"Can he get a refund?" I finally say. "I mean…he'll want one when he discovers that I can't dance."

She laughs. "Fuck no. There's a sign by the door that says in big red letters – _NO REFUNDS_. As long as you're moving, he can't say shit. He may suggest how you could move, but that's the extent of it. If he does, just listen to him. Oh, and follow the beat. You'll know exactly what to do. You've already seen Bambi, Starla, and the rest do it hundreds of times."

My head is now sulking. _I don't want to be here._ I wish I could just crawl and sneak out through the back door. In my mind I keep telling myself that I only need to do this once. I'll never have to do this ever again.

 _Just take the money and run, Steele._

But I'm scared to death. I'm terrified to be alone in a room with this man. Christian Grey appears to be so sure of himself – and who could blame him? All of the girls here are fawning over him. Every time I'd run into a server at the bar or by the kitchen, or even passing a dancer on the floor or encountering any girl in the ladies' room, Christian Grey was literally the hot topic.

 _"_ _He can't be real"_ – one girl blushed.

 _"_ _He's one of the most gorgeous men I've ever seen"_ – said another.

 _"_ _Did you get close to him? What does he smell like?"_

 _"_ _Hope he calls me over. I'll give him the dance of his life."_

I roll my eyes at the recollection.

 _And now I have to face him.  
No witnesses, just him and I alone._

I didn't sign up for this shit! I am _not_ an erotic dancer. I only came to Zion to serve food and drinks and make a decent salary and tips in order to cover my tuition.

Now I'm being told to dance – and if I say no, I'm certain I'll be fired. Now I'm dancing for my life.

Fuck, I can't even dance to save my life. I have zero coordination or rhythm.

On the floor, Christian Grey appeared to be aloof whenever I'd steal a glance of him. He seemed rather subtle and quiet the whole time. I don't know if that's a good thing or a bad thing. Maybe he's an entirely different beast behind closed doors.

 _Oh shit…what if he wants to have sex with me?_

Okay Steele – calm the hell down.  
 **Breathe**.

I'll have the special dog whistle around my neck at all times.

 _You'll be safe here._

And like Becky said, he'd never put his high-profile career at risk.

 _Whatever he does for a living._ I have no clue who this man is or what he does.

And now, I'm about to attempt to dance for him.

….

Becky swiftly ushers me past the servers' boudoir and into the dancers' boudoir. I gaze at the sensual atmosphere for the very first time. The surrounding space is even more stunning and romantic than our home base. I wished that I could appreciate it more, but my heart is currently beating through my throat due to what I am about to embark on.

I notice a couple of the dancers walking around the room naked as if it were not a thing. This isn't the same attitude or level of confidence you'd find in the servers' quarters.

Becky begins to fling out slinky articles from a central closet. Most of the things she tosses past me don't cover much more than a damned slingshot. I'm highly certain my expression gives away that this entire premise a _terrible_ idea.

"Stop worrying," she says as she continues to pillage through the articles. "Everything's thoroughly sanitized. This closet is only for the new girls who can't afford a dancer's outfit until they get their first pay."

Becky finally settles on a black jumpsuit with lace panels on the legs and stomach area. The parts that aren't lace, which include right around the breasts, are leather. It's also completely backless.

"Perfect," Becky beams proudly.

"Oh my God," I gasp, flustered.

"This is gorgeous," she continues to rave. "And this is the most tamest thing in here." She shoves the scraps – I refuse to call it anything else – into my arms as she rummages for something else. She finally takes out a sheer red robe with lace trim.

"Here. Now, what size shoes do you wear?"

I swallow.  
 _I'm not doing this._

"London…what size?" she says again.

"Seven and a half… _ish_?"

"Perfect. Let's find you some red heels, get you dressed, and quickly do your makeup. You don't want to keep Mr. Grey waiting for too long," she says with a scandalous raised brow.

 _Where did I go wrong?  
How in the world did my life ever come to this?_

….

Becky grips my hand like a young child she ushers me into Private Row for the first time. I get this ominous feeling coursing my veins. I'm shaking. This slinky outfit is extremely uncomfortable and I can barely walk in these stilettos. I look and feel utterly ridiculous.

"London, _stop_. You look absolutely gorgeous," she scolds. "He's going to love you."

I roll my eyes. More like: He'll love it when I'm done and he doesn't have to set eyes on the likes of my two left feet or _me_ ever again.

I idly wonder why management or any dancer hasn't stopped us in our tracks as we approach the belly of the lion's den. Becky is still in her server's uniform, while I'm here impersonating the talent.

 _My only talent is spilling water on insanely rich, hot guys._

The narrow halls of Private Row are very sultry, still sticking with the theme of grand chandeliers. However, the light illuminates purplish-hues, giving the area a seductive feel. Behind each polished wooden door lies a secret. And just as Becky mentioned, there are big, burly security guards standing watch by every third or forth door as well as bold and capitalized signs touting **_NO REFUNDS_** and **_NO TOUCHING THE DANCERS_**.

At a certain point, Becky strategically looks at each door before stopping in front of one.

"Here we are, buttercup," she wistfully smiles.

"Oh my God, Becky…why are you making me do this," I whisper, now shaking like a leaf.

She wraps her arms around me. "Hush," she coos. "You're going to be glad you did this. You'll walk away with two grand…"

I abruptly pull away. "And how much did they give you for making me do this?" I say suddenly.

Her eyes go wide before her head falls ever so slightly. "A grand."

"I knew it," I seethe.

"London," she says softly, placating with her palms facing me. "If you say _no_ , what do you think will happen? I'll tell you what'll happen if you don't do this _right now_. Word _will_ get back to Mr. Dark that Christian Grey wanted a dance from you, because Dark and Neumann are tight as thieves. Also, Dark's way too fucking eager to garner a new a high-profile billionaire client. He would've made you dance, _and_ for far less money than you would've taken home tonight had you just danced for Grey in the first damn place. And if you refuse after Dark asks…"

I stop her with my hand before clutching my eyelids tight in dread.

 _I know, I know._

"You said that you really needed the cash for school. And I really need this grand to catch up on my car note," she says, now pleading with me.

I truly have two worlds balancing on my shoulders right now – Becky's world, and mine.

I was just starting to feel a little more hopeful after three solid days of work and very good tips. I did the math this morning and I'd have to royally suck as a server not to be able to afford to pay for school this fall. If I lose my job now, I'll never make enough money to pay off my student debt. I won't graduate.

If I just do this _one dance_ , it will put a huge dent in my bill.

 _God, this truly sucks._

….

When I enter the room alone, I see that Mr. Grey is already here.

Oh shit…this is it.  
It's now or never.

The room itself is quite long but narrow and _very_ red. It sort of reminds me of this red robe that I'm wearing, in which I'm reminded to take off per Becky's instructions. So I awkwardly face completely away from the visitor and remove it, revealing my skintight lace and leather ensemble before hanging it on the hook by the door. And although I am covered from head to toe, I feel naked and ridiculous in this number that Becky insisted that I keep on.

 _"_ _Holy hell, London…you look_ _ **sensational**_ _. You're working that cat suit like a vet, girl. Own it! Make Sexy Daddy Hugebucks squirm in his skin that he can't touch you."_

I mentally shake my head recalling her cringe worthy words. After that, I did two shots of tequila in order to garner enough nerve to come into this room. When I get here, I can still feel the burn of the liquid blazing a trail down my chest. I need to be at the point of no-pain in order to dance for this stranger.

 _This gorgeous, mysterious stranger._

Without saying a word, I quickly grab the remote from the glass table and switch on the music.

 _Don't look him in the eye, Ana.  
Just dance._

I start to dance in the center of the floor with zero a clue as to what I'm doing. I'm still quite a distance away from him.

 _He's paying you good money, girl.  
Get up on him._

I try to will myself closer to him. I slowly look up only to see his legs bent over the red velvet sofa. I saunter closer and stand in place above him. I start to move, gyrating my hips.

 _"_ _All you have to do is just grind your hips to the beat."_ – Becky said.

Her instructions continue to play in a loop in my head. The pulsating rhythm is truly captivating. I try my damnedest to just let it wash over me, but I'm still overly aware that my own body is rather tense. The tequila hasn't fully taken over my bloodstream quite yet.

 _"_ _Look him in his face. Make certain that he's enjoying what you are doing"_ – my coach's words return to me.

But when I suddenly look up, he appears as if he's trying desperately not to burst out laughing. His shoulders jerk slightly.

" _Stop_ ," he says right in the middle of chuckling.

I freak out.

 _Oh no – I fucked this all up._

Now standing erect, I turn and hurry to shut off the music. Not too far from where the stereo remote once sat, there's a bottle chilling in ice next to a few flutes. I quickly grab the nearby electric cork screw, deftly remove the cork, and carefully pour me a glass of champagne.

I down it quickly.

I look like an idiot. I _feel_ like an idiot.  
I'm beyond embarrassed. _What was I thinking agreeing to do this?!_  
I take another glug of my drink until it's gone before swiftly refilling the glass.

"Hey," he softly calls out. The sound is as smooth as ointment to a burning wound.

But when I turn to him with glass in hand, he looks beyond amused.  
I'm embarrassed as hell – I can feel my cheeks burning.

"Why don't you bring me one of those," he says in a smoky timbre that makes my knees rattle.

 _Holy shit…why is he_ _ **so**_ _hot?_

I nearly forget that I just got done embarrassing myself because of the pure ease present in his tone, but then I quickly recall his voice from moments ago telling me to _'Stop'_.

I desperately want to get out of here. I check the time on the wall and find out that less than five minutes have passed. I am crushed.

Shaking, I put my glass down on the table and pour him one. I quickly walk over and take it to him before I drop it. He takes the glass, but then reaches out to grab my wrist. I freeze, but then he remembers himself and quickly releases me.

"Go get your glass and come and sit with me," he orders.

Shit, he'd rather me sit down than dance for him.  
Well, he _is_ the customer.

I retrieve my glass and sit on the red velvety sofa as far away from him as I possibly can, but he makes the effort to scooch down and close the gap – devouring the space between us. I feel a large air bubble taking shape in my throat.

He takes a swig of his drink, and I watch it slowly travel down his throat. I hear his exhale when it does.

"So…tell me. Is London your real name?"

My pulse starts to race even more. I clear my throat and try to find some sort of composure.

"It is when I'm here," I choke out.

He smirks. "Okay. So when you're not here, what's your name?"

I slowly talk myself into just giving him my first name.

 _He's paying me a lot of money to be here and I couldn't even give him a half decent lap dance.  
Hell, I need to get additional lessons from Bambi, and fast…_

" _A_ – Ana," I stutter. "Anastasia."

He chuckles. "Anastasia?"

I nearly cower as I nod. "Yes."

"You know that's like the perfect stripper's name, don't you?"

I can't help but laugh, too. "I know, that's what they told me. But there's this anonymity thing. So _London_ it is."

"Why London?"

I giggle nervously. "Well, I'm sort of like…you know…a book worm. I love reading the old English literary classics. I have this affinity for all things London."

He tightens his lips and nods. "Have you ever been to London?"

"Uh, no. But I dream of going there almost every day," I murmur.

"Yes," he says, tilting his head sideways in contemplation. "You'd like it there."

"You've been?"

"Sure."

"Business? Pleasure?"

"When I was younger, I went there for pleasure. Now, pretty much anyplace I go these days is for business."

"Oh? So I take it that you're here in Portland on business?"

"Yes."

"That's right…the girls were saying that you're _um_ … _Christian Grey from Seattle_?"

He nods.

"Cool. I hope to move to Seattle next year."

"Really? What's keeping you here?"

"I go to school. WSU."

"So you're a student."

I nod.

"Are you here to pay for school?"

Ashamed, I nod again.

He smiles the sexiest smile. "I see. That explains it. I could tell from the moment I saw you that you didn't fit in here."

I narrow my eyes. "Why would you say that?"

Perhaps he doesn't think that I'm pretty enough to work here.  
 _If so, he'd be absolutely right._

"Well, you seem like you'd rather be anywhere than here. It's as if you're only here because you _have_ to be. What happened with tuition?"

I feel that he's getting a little too personal. After some internal back and forth, I decide to make my true response into a joke.

"Well, I had a scholarship that went south. I'm in my last year right now and I need to cover the entire year. And thanks to you and your dinner partner, Mr. Neumann, it looks like I'm getting much closer to my goal," I say with a nervous grin.

He smiles just from the corner of his mouth, and it's overtly rebelliously sexy and smoldering in a James Dean kind of way. I'm nearly breathless.

"So once you meet that goal, are you going to quit here?" he asks.

"Yes."

"Well, I hope you meet your goal very soon."

"So do I. So _um_ …Mr. Grey, I know I suck at dancing, but you just paid very good money," I stammer, embarrassed all over again at the ill attempt.

"No, no, no…it's fine," he assures me.

He's not laughing at me this time. Instead, he appears to be sincere.

"But I feel terrible. You wanted a dance. Look, I'm just learning. I don't have all of the moves down yet. Hopefully one day, I will. Maybe you can come back in a couple of weeks and have another dance…on me."

 _What the hell, Ana?!_

I want to kick myself for even making the offer. I'm sure as hell not doing _this_ ever again.

"Well, that's very tempting, Anastasia…I mean _London_ , but I don't think that I'm patient enough to wait a few weeks for a dance that I just paid good money for," he smirks a flirty smirk.

It leaves me breathless.  
 _Oh. My…_

Sounds like I need to get those accelerated dancing courses underway…pronto.

"I'm sorry?" I say with a furrowed brow.

"Look, maybe I can help you. What if I gave you some dancing tips?" he offers.

I laugh. " _You_ give _me_ tips? Did you use to dance or something?"

He snorts. "Well, I dance but not the type of dancing that's prevalent here. Look – I'll guide, and you just do as I say."

I can feel my palms start to sweat. I'm even more nervous than I was when I first walked in here.

This Grey guy's a little bossy. However, he seems as though he wants to be helpful. But I _can't_ dance…he's witnessed this with his own two eyes. And I look and feel fucking stupid in this get-up.

Then suddenly, he inches his body just a little bit closer.

"Hey. First of all, you are _very_ beautiful…you know that?" he says in a warm tone that's not in the least threatening.

Instead of responding, I look down. I catch his hand moving from the corner of my eye, but it's as if he stops himself. Perhaps he's recalling that big bold sign on the door.

 _I don't necessarily know if I would have stopped him if he decided to touch me._

"Second of all – what you're wearing isn't right for you," he says. "What you had on earlier looked perfectly fine. You should only be in mini dresses to flaunt your nice long legs, and perhaps a low cut front…but only to tease. You should always leave something to the imagination," he advises gently. "And you don't need all of that makeup. You were stunning earlier without it."

My breath hitches up in my throat at his words. Slowly I feel my own arms fold to cover up my boobs pressing up against the leather panels of the cat suit. My breasts aren't exposed, but they most certainly feel as if they are based on his critique.

"Third of all, you are extremely beautiful."

I look up at him, confused. "You already said that."

He smirks at me. "You apparently didn't hear me the first time. Now you're hiding yourself. Look, if it makes you feel more comfortable, why don't you put that robe back on. It won't get in the way of what I'm about to show you how to do."

The rhythm of my heartbeat becomes more erratic. Slowly I stand and retrieve the red robe by the door and drape it back on.

"Hand me the stereo remote," he orders. I grab it and walk it over to him.

"Now," he says, "I want you to stand about four feet away from me so I can see you."

My nervous brain can't comprehend calculating two-plus-two right now, much less figuring out how far four feet is from this ridiculously attractive man. But I do my best. I walk a straight away from him until I feel as if I'm far enough.

He suddenly turns on the music and turns it down low.

I don't know the song, but the slow rhythmic beat is so hypnotizing. So far, it's instrumental without any featured vocals.

"Now close your eyes and press your weight down into your legs," he instructs in a steady voice.

What is this? Why am I even entertaining doing what he says after he just laughed at me for trying before?

"Come on," he implores, now smirking. "We don't have all night."

I sigh, slowly giving in. I close my eyes.

"Now press your weight down."

I don't even know what that means, but I decide to squat - just slightly.

"Now feel the rhythm surrounding you," he utters smoothly. "The rhythm is your vehicle. All you have to do is get in and ride it."

My God…that's what Becky tried to tell me.

The slow, melodic rhythm starts to captivate me, and I start to move.

"Don't move," he says, and I still. "Just feel. You need to feel it first. _Then_ move."

I stand there with my eyes closed and I let the beat simply wash over me. Slowly, I start to get out of my own head and before I know it, I enter an entirely different plane.

I picture myself galloping on a horse through a lush meadow to the beat of the drum. My body catches the stride and I soon sway with it. I have no idea what this song is, but it's now my new favorite.

After while as it continues to play, I sense the realization that the selection is fairly long – but it's not unwelcomed. I yearn to remain cloaked inside of this blissful unconscious state that I'm in for as long as possible. It's as freeing as a glorious dream.

I soon think of Starla and Bambi and imagine that I am either one of them as I move.  
Hell, those girls should be in here dancing for Christian Grey… _not_ me.

I've seen Bambi do this dozens upon dozens of times on the floor and envied her throughout. But now in this moment, I endeavor to embody her. Ana's no longer present in this room…nor is there an unbelievably attractive young billionaire in my midst.

It's just _London_ and the music.

Losing all track of time and self, I'm startled the moment the song comes to an end. I fearfully stand straight and reopen my eyes. This time, he's not laughing at me.

"How was…" I start. However, his seductive appeasing smile stops me cold in my tracks.

"You did wonderful. Always remember, you must fall in with the music," he recaps.

"But I didn't dance on _you_ ," I say nervously.

His expression darkens. "Don't worry about that. I have a really wild imagination," he utters in his deep, sultry voice. Then he sneaks in a sexy wink.

 _God, this man is so unreal_ – I sigh to myself, swooning internally.

"You were perfect," he reemphasizes.

I laugh knowing good and well that he's not being one hundred percent truthful with me.  
It's a pity complement, for sure.

"Thank you," I tell him anyway.

* * *

 ** _A/N: Hey everyone – I hope it was worth the wait. :)_**

 ** _In the next chapter titled "Fascination", Christian decides to forgo his trip back home on Saturday and puts that little card to use instead of tossing it into the trash. ;)_**

 ** _Meanwhile, Ana will get to put those quick lessons from Bambi (and Christian) to use._**

 ** _This tale isn't as cut and dry as others I've written. Like 'London', I'm still trying to get into a groove. Hopefully things will start to click for me soon, haha!_**

 ** _Let me know if you like where it's going so far. I'll be aiming for updates every Saturday. :D Thank you! – ST2_**


	3. Chapter 3 - Fascination

**Chapter 3** **–** **Fascination**

CHRISTIAN

I recall the very moment when the switch was flipped.

It was when she finally got out of her own head and became enslaved to the rhythm. For just a few minutes, she was no longer the same awkward young girl who couldn't find the beat in Kid Cudi's _Day 'N' Nite_ if her life depended on it. She quickly blossomed into a woman who no longer cared that I was even in the room with her. It was beyond captivating to watch.

 _She's a natural and doesn't even know it yet._

Before tonight, I didn't feel one way or another about "The xx's" _Intro_ , an instrumental-only song I first heard while browsing around at some hippy-clothing store to kill time in London's West End. _London…how apt._ I've heard the tune a few times since then, but it wasn't something that stuck with me.

However after watching Miss London's hips sway to the fleeting drumbeat but ever-present melodic… _hypnotic_ melody, I became a convert. I'll never hear that song the same way again. It is now _her_ theme song. _London's Introduction_ , if you will…or rather _Anastasia's_ introduction.

Anastasia.

 _Anastasia._

I close my eyes as the very sound of her name takes form in my head.

"Grey?"

The grating sound of Neumann's annoying voice in the back seat of his SUV abruptly yanks me out of my thoughts.

"So did sweet London show you _France_ tonight?" he says with a sick, arched upper lip.

 _Fuck him._

I presume the drunken snicker behind me came from Bergen because when I turn sideways, Gibbs looks as unsettled as I feel. Actually, I'm more pissed than unsettled. I've had more than enough of Neumann's bullshit for one day.

 _Just hold off for ten more minutes, Grey._

Then I have to deal with him for only a couple more hours on Monday before he signs SNA Corp over to me. Then it's _Sayonara, Herr Asshole_.

"I hope your evening was worth postponing your trip home to Seattle, yah?" Neumann quips.

I quickly change the subject. "So are you certain that we will sign a final agreement by Monday afternoon, or am I completely wasting my time," I say sternly.

I need to know right now if I'm fucking wasting my time putting up with this asshole giving me the runaround. I had significant meetings on Monday that were rescheduled due to Neumann's incompetence as a leader. He needs to make the final call.

He acquiesces. "No, I'll certainly be signing the agreement, Grey. Don't worry. GEH's business model is the best one out of any other for SNA Corp. There's no better fit."

 _So why are you fucking wasting my time?_

And then realization dawns on me that I wouldn't of had the pleasure of meeting Miss London tonight had Neumann not been the douchebag that he is. Sometimes, you just have to take the good with the shitty.

My BlackBerry vibrates in my jacket pocket and I retrieve it.

 ** _Taylor:_** _Sir, Stephan has retrieved Charlie Tango  
and your weekend reservation is all set. _

**_Me:_** _Clothes?_

 ** _Taylor:_** _I picked up a few items which are all in your room.  
Underwear, jeans, sneakers, workout sweats.  
I'll go home tomorrow and fetch you a suit for Monday._

 ** _Me:_** _Thanks. Have Andrea patch in Marco via WebEx  
at 9 on Monday in the meeting to finalize the deal._

 ** _Taylor:_** _Yes Sir. Did you also need me to postpone the other matter?_

Shit, I'd totally forgotten all about that.

 ** _Me:_** _No. I will handle it._

Since it was so late tonight and I'd have to return to Portland on Monday anyway, I decided to text Taylor earlier to set it up for me to stay at The Heathman for the weekend. Originally I'd arranged for Madison to come by the penthouse on Saturday instead of Friday, but since I am to remain in Portland for the weekend, that greatly changes things.

I need to close this deal with SNA Corp as soon as possible and I will use the weekend to comb through the last agreement one final time to make certain that Neumann doesn't try to fuck me over. I know that my legal team has already done the job, but I'd feel much more comfortable if I gave the documentation one final glance.

* * *

ANA

After leaving Private Row, I decided to hide out in one of the changing stalls in the servers' boudoir. Even after changing out of that _awful_ bodysuit and back into my server's uniform, I'm still reeling over what took place back in that private room.

I made a complete fool out of myself and he let me know it with his laughter. But then he was so patient with me. He told me to get out of my own head and let go, and I felt I did that. And even though he gave me nothing but praise afterwards, I still felt so awkward; so unlearned.

"London! Are you here?"

Shit. It's Becky.

"Yes," I call back.

"Oh, thank God. I was looking all over for you," she sighs in relief. I can see her high heels under the door's sizable gap. "Are you dressed yet?"

I sigh fully aware that she won't leave me alone until after she sees with her own two eyes that all went well with Mr. Grey. Slowly I stand from the bench and push open the stall door before emerging with the borrowed dancer's costume draped over my forearm.

"How did it go?" Becky says, immediately approaching my side. She lifts the garment away from me. "I want to know absolutely _everything_ , so don't leave anything out," she demands, beaming like a teenage girl eager for her friend to gossip.

I tense up. " _I_ …I don't know," I stutter. It's been well over thirty minutes and I'm still a nervous wreck.

A wave of sincere concern washes over her. "Oh no…was he a jerk?"

" _No_ ," I adamantly insist, "he was great. He was extremely nice. He had me sit down next to him and asked if _London_ was really my name. Then we talked about me being in school and potentially moving to Seattle once I'm done…"

"Wait…you told him your real name?" she gapes.

I nod. _Uh oh._ "Was it wrong to do that?"

Nonchalant, she shrugs her shoulders. "I mean… _yeah_ , technically. But it's Christian motherfucking Grey. If that man asked me for a blood sample, I'd give it to him," she quips. I chuckle. "So what _is_ your real name…if you don't mind me asking?"

"Anastasia."

Her eyes perk up in pleasant surprise. "Wow, that's even more seductive than _London_."

I sigh. "Remember, I'm a server, not a dancer."

Becky flashes me an awkward grin. "Well, I don't know…you might have just stumbled into a brand career," she teases.

I blanch. "No way. I totally made a complete fool out of myself right in front of him," I murmur, trying my best to calm down, but anxiety somehow prevails.

 _Get a grip, Steele.  
It's over.  
You'll never have to see him ever again._

"So what went wrong in there?" she asks, puzzled.

I debate for a beat whether or not I should just be honest with her.  
 _What the heck_ – I sigh to myself.

"I'm a terrible dancer. He laughed at me at first," I say with a pout.

Becky sputters out in laughter but quickly composes herself. "Oh…I'm sorry."  
 _Her too, huh?_ I'm not having a good day, to say the least.

"But he was very understanding about it. I told him that I wasn't a dancer. _Then_ he told me exactly what to do when the music came back on, and I did it."

Becky is now in absolute awe. "He knows how to dance?"

"Apparently," I say with shoulders shrugged. "He told me to just let the music take control of me, and that's what I did. Still, it doesn't change the fact that I still can't dance for shit."

"God," she swoons. "Sexy, rich… _and_ he dances?"

"Oh my goodness!" another voice randomly calls out.

Then another voice chimes in.

"London…sweetie!"

The voices aren't so random because soon, Bambi and Elaine are standing before us. They were apparently eavesdropping – for how long, I don't know. But what astounds more so is the fact that I've never seen Bambi enter this room since I've worked here.

 _Bambi? In the servers' boudoir?_

"I've got you, girl!" she excites, wrapping her arms around me. "And I'm taking you to the dance studio _to–night_!"

"What?" I say in shock. Bambi proudly nods in confirmation.

"So was he just as beautiful one-on-one?" Elaine anxiously implores me.

I bashfully close my eyes and sigh.

"Is that a _yes_?" she eagerly hopes.

"London said that he was _'extremely nice'_ to her," Becky giddily recaps. Both she and Elaine then commence to squeal like two teenaged girls over the high school quarterback. _Geez._ I roll my eyes.

"I am going to make you a dancer yet, London," Bambi vows.

I shake my head. "It's no use. I won't be doing that ever again," I stiffly declare.

Bambi's immediately crestfallen. "Why not?"

"Because I'm _not_ a dancer…I'm a server," I so kindly remind her and everyone else.

"But what if he comes back?"

"He won't," I immediately shut down.

Suddenly, a throng of girls comes swarming in – servers, dancers and bartenders, each one pining to know all about the insanely handsome and dashing _Christian Grey_.

 _"_ _I'm_ _ **so**_ _jealous."_

 _"_ _He just willy-nilly made you suit up and go to Private Row with him?! I would have died!"_

 _"_ _Oh my god…I would've totally let that man touch me wherever he wanted to!"_

 _"_ _So, did you?!"_

And when I don't say a word, they turn and begin squawking to one another.

 _"_ _I heard that man's a god in the sack."_

 _"_ _How do you know that?"_

 _"I have friends who know friends…"_

 _"_ _He has his own private island in the Caribbean!"_

 _"_ _My god – are you for real?!"_

I silently pray for the cloak of invisibility. _Get me out of here._ I'm beyond overwhelmed as the chatter begins to blend into one huge blob of noise. And as I remain silent, Becky starts to fills them in and they all listen intently as if she were my official spokesperson.

"He was a complete gentleman from start to finish. He was so reassuring and sweet to her."

 _"_ _Aww!"_ they sigh a syrupy sigh in unison.

I roll my eyes at them all. I'm not the least bit in the mood to giggle and swoon over Christian Grey in the presence of all of these girls. I remain mortified that I even had the stupid nerve to put on that skanky ass cat suit and do _whatever it was_ I did back in that private room. I'm beyond embarrassed. I want to be alone and try to process these frantic thoughts of mine.

But it doesn't look like that's happening anytime soon.

"Hey!" a stern female voice shouts from a distance, startling us all. "Back to work!" The girls scatter immediately, leaving Becky, Bambi, and me.

"There you are," L-Mo says as she approaches the three of us, yet her eyes are locked solely on me.

 _Shit. I'm in deep trouble. I wasn't authorized to dance.  
_ But as I look to right and then to my left, neither of the two girls with me are as alarmed as I am. _Huh?_

To my surprise, L-Mo cups my face with her hands and beams proudly.

"My sweet little darling dancing newbie. Mr. Grey gave you _rave_ reviews." I blink at her. _What? Really?_ "He even checked the _'I may come back'_ box on the exit survey!"

I gasp in shock.

Wait…first of all – there's a fucking exit survey?! What kind of shit is that? I mean, what type of questions would even be on this thing? Is it anything like – _Did you enjoy the genre of music your designated talent used while grinding on your junk? If not, what genre would you prefer for your next visit?_

Or – _Was the desired amount of pressure applied from the talent's ass to your schlong?_

I mean _come on_. Where was this survey even administered? Did either one of those snooty chicks positioned at the front desk accost Christian Grey on his way out and force him to take the survey before Oscar the bouncer allowed him to exit? I mean who has time to fill out a survey? _Nobody_ does those things.

Secondly, is the man insane? ' _Rave reviews'_? I was fucking terrible back there.

"See!" Bambi gloats at me before turning her attention to her boss. "I told London that I'm giving her lessons starting tonight."

"Good," L-Mo nods. She's well pleased.

My pulse is now racing.  
 _Why am I being pushed to do something that I'm no good at?  
Something that I'm being told that I'd never have to do again?_

"But I'm a server. I don't want to be a dancer," I say, pleading for my very life.

L-Mo gently places both hands on my biceps. "I know, sugar. And I'm not forcing you to quit your job as a server. But if Mr. Grey ever decides to come back…"

"He won't," I quickly snap.

"Hey, let's be positive here," she soothes.

"Yeah – and besides, and he checked the box," Bambi beams.

Becky's eyes narrow, "I have a box that he can check," she mumbles. I scowl, while Bambi swats her across the arm. L-Mo laughs.

"Luke wouldn't appreciate that remark. _I_ can say that… _you_ can't," Bambi playfully scolds. Becky simply waves her off.

"Who's Luke?" I ask.

"Becky's ol' man," Bambi answers in her stead.

"He's someone who took a very good dancer away from me," L-Mo says semi-bitterly. Becky sighs with regret. I gape at her. I had no idea that she used to dance. She's never mentioned it before.

"You used to dance?" I ask.

Becky nods. "Yep. Then I fell in love with a _very_ jealous guy and he made me quit. In reality, he wants me to quit Zion _period_ , but he knows damn well that I make great money here."

"She's a fantastic dancer, too," Bambi praises, but Becky waves her off as if her praise were overstated.

"You are," L-Mo cosigns.

"Do you miss it?" I ask. Becky doesn't reply with words, but the way her mouth tightens and her head slightly drops, it tells me all that I need to know.

 _She wholeheartedly wishes that she were still dancing._

I can't imagine loving to do something so much and then having to quit it because of a jealous lover. If I were Becky, I would've told this _Luke_ fella to go kick rocks.

Which thoroughly explains why Becky has a boyfriend and I don't.  
 _My smart mouth has always gotten me into trouble._

" _Alrighty_ ," L-Mo prefaces, clearing her throat. She turns to me. "Off you go with Bambi to the studio." Before I can object, she holds up her hand to stop me. "It's just a simple, fun lesson. I promise, you won't have to dance for anyone else."

"Just for Christian Grey," Becky mumbles slyly under her breath.

I sigh; hoping beyond hope that one simple, ill-conceived dance for Christian Grey did not open up a can of worms that I can never place back inside.

* * *

CHRISTIAN

In my hotel suite, I'm all showered and changed into pajama pants when I resolve to sit at the desk and begin my detailed review of the agreement that Neumann has yet to sign. _Asshole._ Not long after, I launch my computer's audio player and set _Intro_ to play faintly in the background in a loop.

I smile as I fondly recall _Lil' Miss London's_ innocence as she danced for me back in that private room earlier tonight.

 _I wish I could get ahold of her.  
I could train her well.  
She's young and potentially moldable…_

 _Get a fucking grip, Grey.  
You already have someone back home. _

I abruptly recall that there's some unfinished business that I need to take care of. I reach for my mobile nearby and select the contact I need. The other line rings just once.

"Master?" she says in a way that exposes that she is surprised by my call. Normally she'd be hearing from Taylor over the phone, not me. She quickly collects herself. "Hello."

I smile just a little. "Madison. How are you this evening?"

"I'm well, Sir. Although I missed you today…very much."

"Is that so?" I say in a taunting tone.

"Yes Sir. I'm looking forward to seeing you tomorrow," she says in a convincing tone. "Is there anything you need me to do until then?"

Madison is a very good and thorough submissive. Although I wished she possessed more of an _um_ …spark…in her personality. She doesn't have the same charming mischievous streak that Leila had. Boy, Leila sure knew how to always keep me on my toes. It's so unfortunate that our arrangement had to come to an end.

Leila made the egregious error of falling in love with me. Her father obviously didn't warn her as a little girl about falling for assholes like me. If I ever had a daughter, which would _never_ happen in a billion years since the very thought of having children makes me physically ill, I would lock her ass up in her bedroom for life if she ever dated a guy like me.

"About that," I say to Madison before clearing my throat. "Unfortunately, my business dealings here in Portland will keep me into early next week. Therefore I'm going to have to take a rain check for this weekend. I won't be back in Seattle until sometime Monday evening."

"Very well, Master," she says – and a tinge of disappointment is apparent in her voice. "I will see you next Friday, then?"

"Same time, same place," I smile. "I apologize for the last minute change in plans. I'll certainly reward you for your patience."

"Thank you for your kindness, Sir," she replies, now a little more spirited. "I very much look forward to that."

"Good. Enjoy your weekend, and behave while I'm away. I'll know if you haven't," I say in a low tone of voice.

 _No playing with yourself – or with anyone else for that matter while I'm away._

"Yes Sir – I will. I hope you have a good and productive week."

"Thank you, Madison. Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Master."

* * *

ANA

I gawk in awe as Bambi sashays behind an old fold-up chair propped dead center of the dance studio. She flings around and reaches her fingers backwards to touch the backrest while her butt grazes against it.

This studio is exactly how I'd imagine it would be – all mirrors and a polished parquet hardwood floor. There's a ballet bar set along one wall. For now, it's just my teacher and I because I insisted on not having an audience present during my first lesson.

Bambi is dressed in only a very long white Portland Timbers t-shirt and spiked thigh-high black boots. I'm wearing a ratty gray WSU t-shirt, black leggings and Chucks. Next to Bambi, I absolutely look like the novice, and we haven't even started dancing yet.

"Everything in this dance is in _four-count_. We start with a roll. _One, two, three, four_ …" she times as she sways her hips from left to right. Then she seductively rounds the chair in the same count of four until she reaches the side.

"One…" she folds forward, flipping her short dark hair.  
"Two…" she springs back up and flings up her right arm.  
"Three…" she drops into a squat.  
"Four…" she pops her ass up and out.

 _Holy shit._ I'm gaping as she sexily rolls up until she's standing again. I can barely swallow and she's already sitting in the chair and spreading her legs and then gliding her feet across the floor…all to the fucking count of four and I'm absolutely lost. Now she's facing sideways and leaning back in mid-air while holding on to the chair.

 _Wait…what? Who? Where?  
Nuh uh. I can't do that.  
No way._

"Got that?" she beams with extreme confidence in my ability. _Oh no._ "Now you try."

I shake my head.

"You've got this. I'll walk you through it up to here and then show you the rest. And as you get better, you'll know how to add your very own flavor to the dance," she winks.

 _This is absolutely impossible for me to do.  
I am a lost cause._

….

I arrive home just before midnight and Kate's bedroom door is closed without a trace of light beaming from underneath it. _Odd – it's Friday night, and she's home._

 _Hell, I feel sore all over._

I decide to bathe and then soak for a while in the tub with Epsom salt as I reflect on my whirlwind of a night.

 _The stress of working the floor with major VIP clients.  
The terror of spilling water on the most important one.  
The sheer horror of being summoned to a private room with said client.  
The ridicule of being laughed at by the insanely attractive client for dancing horribly. _

Bambi…bless her. She's fantastic, but I know that I'm a hopeless case when it comes to dancing. The more she praised me during our lesson, the more I thought that she was full of shit. She told me that she truly sees promise in me, but I told her that it was only the promise of continuing to look like a complete ditz whenever I tried dance.

Sure – I'll keep working with her, but I truly believe that this is all in vain. I'm a server, not a dancer. I don't have a single rhythmic bone in my body.

No worries, I won't be dancing in Private Row ever again. Christian Grey isn't coming back… _ever_ , I don't care what that survey said. He lives in Seattle, for crying out loud.

 _"_ _The rhythm is your vehicle. All you have to do is get in and ride it."_

When his satiny words from his dance instructions come back to me, they take an entirely different meaning.

 _I'd certainly like to ride him._

Dammit, Steele – chill. I'm more than certain that I won't be seeing this man ever again. And as well meaning as the girls were tonight, I won't be changing jobs anytime soon.

I am _not_ a dancer.  
I will never be a dancer.

After about thirty minutes and before my skin turns too pruney, I dry off and change into a black cami and sweats before I make way to the kitchen to fix tea with my iPod and earbuds. Afterwards, I settle down in front of the counter on a bar stool and reach for Kate's computer to parse through emails and read up on an upcoming assignment for one of my classes. As I work away, I sway to the most recent Keane album.

 _Yeah, I'm certain that neither Bambi nor Mr. Grey would approve of these moves._

As minutes turn into an hour, I'm extremely grateful that I don't have to wake up in the morning for class. _Yay, Saturday._ Yet I'm vexed because I can't get the thought of Christian Grey out of my head no matter what I do. And then out of nowhere, the notion finally occurs that the man's a _major_ public figure.

 _Duh – of course._

I quickly exit out of my email and begin barreling down the _Christian Grey-search rabbit hole_. When I parse the images, I am practically drooling all over the screen.

 _Geez, he's too beautiful for his own good._

"Oh my God, is that Christian Grey?!"

My soul nearly leaps out of my flesh. I was obviously dead to the world to not notice Kate entering the kitchen behind me. I quickly shut out of the window I was in and snatch out my ear buds.

Kate gapes at me. "What are you doing?"

" _N_ …nothing…" I stammer.

"I've been trying to interview Christian Grey for the past year for the school paper. I heard he's thinking about doing some work with the agriculture department at our school."

"Really?" I say in surprise.

"Yeah, but he's extremely difficult to get ahold of. It's so funny that you were just looking at his photos."

"I was actually looking for something else and stumbled on him," I lie.

"Yeah…I'd like to _stumble on him_. He's hot as hell," she says, still groggy from her sleep but well aware.

 _Girl, tell me about it._

* * *

CHRISTIAN

I wake up hours before the sun rises with Miss London on the brain, and I don't know why.

 _Oh, Anastasia – so wide-eyed.  
So innocent. _

That cat suit that she wore in the private room did not suit her in the very least, but her waitress uniform did. _Why did she even change clothes?_ Well, I hope that she heeds my advice, but the mere idea of her ever dancing for me and _only_ me sends a surge through my veins. Along that same line, the thought of her dancing for anyone else after me is unnerving.

I suddenly spring forth out of bed and use the bathroom before swapping out pj's for sweats. I soon head out on a very early run. As I jog through the dark, damp streets of downtown Portland, the opposite effect of my original intent occurs. Traditionally, I run not only for fitness' sake, but I do it to clear my head. But for some reason, my brain is even more fixated on this girl.

 _I want to know more about her._

So her name is Anastasia, and she's a student at WSU – obviously in Vancouver since Pullman's a five hour drive from here. She's over twenty-one, or she wouldn't have been able to serve alcohol. _That should be enough information for Welch to narrow things down._

I'm anxious to know more about her, but it is apparent that all of the girls at Zion go by aliases for a reason. I'm certain that Miss London would be in some sort of trouble if Dark knew that she gave me her real first name. I just hope that she doesn't tell anyone else. She might not be safe next time around. _Maybe she won't be safe_ _ **this**_ _time._ I quickly shake away the invading thought.

When I return to my hotel room after my run, shower and then change into jeans and a t-shirt, I get this strong urge to shoot Welch an email to see if he can gather any intel on my sweet, innocent little _non-dancing_ waitress from last night. However, a flash of reality gives me a rude awakening.

 _She'll probably take this as me stalking her.  
It's because it __**is**_ _stalking, Grey._

I'm sure there are channels in place at Zion to protect all of their girls. And although the owner doesn't want any heat on his secret club, he very much wants to protect it and his employees. I just don't need the headache right now.

 _Grey…forgot about this girl.  
You have a perfectly fine submissive back home in Seattle._

Yes, she's just a girl. Blue-eyed brunettes are a dime a dozen.  
I know this better than anyone.

….

For lunch I sit at the desk in my hotel room with my laptop to my right and a Caesar salad to my left, trying to make heads or tails out of this tentative agreement with SNA Corp. I know that Marco has dotted his I's and crossed his T's, but I want to make certain that Neumann doesn't try to pull a mulligan and find some obscure loophole to get one over on me.

 _I don't trust the man, but I want his company._

The products that SNA Corp currently produce is German engineering at its finest. I endeavor to implement a lot of their patented technology into the next fleet of ships I'm building in all of my yards across the world.

I'm more than determined to find the needle in the haystack of this word soup on my computer screen, but everything just blurs into one big black inkblot whenever my mind floats back and forth to the events of last night.

I picture her sweet shy smile. Oh…and that laugh. There was a glimmer of confidence that finally appeared when she finally relaxed and let go. And although the image of her in my head is still quite clear – I mean it only just happened last night after all – I'm very eager to see her again.

Perhaps I can even show her some… _other things_.

Suddenly, I recall Dark's VIP business card that I was so eager to toss in the trash after I left his business last night.

 _Should I set up another appointment with her?  
Is she even working today?_

The place is open twenty-four/seven. She could already be there now for all I know.  
Or she could have the day off.

I know myself. When I obsess over something, there's no getting past it until I receive more information. That's why I pay my sleuths Welch and Barney as well as I do.

I get up from my chair and retrieve my wallet from the bedside table. I open it and locate the card that Dark handed me. After a few minutes of going back and forth about it, I finally dial the number.

"Jay Dark speaking," he says in a deep monotone voice as soon as he picks up.

"It's Grey. Christian Grey."

"Mr. Grey," he breathes – in surprise I presume. "It's a pleasure hearing from you so soon after finally meeting you last night. I was hoping that you had a wonderful time with us last night."

"Thank you, I did," I tell him.

 _But only with London._

"Look," I start. "I'm actually still in town for the weekend and was wondering if I could stop by Zion alone tonight."

"Absolutely," he enthusiastically replies. "Were you coming by just for dinner, or would you like for me to set you up with one of our very talented girls in a private room?"

"Just the private room," I tell him. "And I was also wondering if I could have an hour instead of thirty minutes."

He sputters, " _Pft_ …of course."

"Is dining permitted in the private rooms as well?"

"Absolutely. We can get you set up in one of our choice rooms for dinner as well as an hour with any of the talent. You'll also have the ability to call in any of the servers to assist you with your meal at any time."

"Fantastic," I say, pleased.

"So, as far as talent, I highly recommend Starla – which is who Neumann saw last night. She's booked solid tonight, but I'll be happy to change that…"

"Thanks, but no. You don't have to adjust her schedule. _I_ …"

Dark cuts me off. "Bambi is an all-time favorite. I would love to set you up with her. She's probably the best dancer I've ever had, although she's slightly older than Starla. Not sure if age is an issue for you. I'd be happy to email you headshots of those girls as well as any others you may find…"

No, no, no. I don't want any of these girls.

"Mr. Dark," I interrupt.

"Jay. Please call me Jay, Mr. Grey," he implores.

" _Jay_. I'm sure Starla and Bambi are lovely girls, but I very much would like to see Miss London again. Is she working tonight?"

He pauses. "London? The server?"

"Yes. I'd like a one-hour appointment with London in a private room with a dinner option for the two of us. Is that feasible?"

"Well…it's unprecedented for our servers to dance. It interferes with the _naughty versus nice theme_ we've got going at Zion. But I really want you to come back and see us, Mr. Grey."

"So London _will_ be available tonight?" I say, cutting right to the chase.

I hear a series of clicks happening in the background. "I'm checking the schedule now," he says. "Well, looks like she's worked for four days straight. One of those days was a volunteer day," he tells me.

I don't care, I just want to know if she'll be there tonight.

"Today's her day off, but…"

 _I want what I want, Jay Dark._

"I'll pay double the going rate of your best dancer if London can come in tonight."

" _Shit_ ," he grumbles. I'm sure he's rather flabbergasted that I'd pay so much money to see someone who's not really dancer.

"I will make it happen. I'll personally give London a call and have her come in for an hour…just for you," he assures me.

I clear my throat. "If possible, I'd rather her not know that I'm coming in tonight. I'd like to surprise her…that's if you don't mind."

"Not at all. What times work best for you?" Dark lobs back.

"How about anytime between seven and midnight?"

"Very well. Let me make the call and I'll let you know when she can be in within that timeframe," he says.

"Great. I look forward to hearing from you."

"Sure thing. Thanks for calling. I'm so glad that you'll be coming back to see us."

After hanging up from Dark, I suddenly contemplate all that I need to do tonight in order to find out if London will be an ideal follow-up to Madison once our contract ends in a couple of months. But the more I think about it, the more foolish I start to feel.

 _This girl will be in Vancouver for seven months.  
I can't wait that long.  
She'll also be done with school after that. _

_There's no way a contract with her would ever work._

But no matter what I tell myself, it doesn't erase the image of her from my head. _She intrigues me._ Perhaps I'll just sit back and enjoy teaching her how to dance once more tonight. Maybe I'll simply take in the fullness of this hour alone with her because it just might be the very last time I'll ever see the likes of her again.

* * *

ANA

I've never been so confused on a Saturday.

The whole time while shopping this afternoon with Kate – _god, I hate shopping_ – my mind has been fixated on Christian Grey.

I now understand why all of the other girls at the club were so charmed by him. If they only knew how he was like in Private Row, they would completely lose their shit. He was not only kind and alluring, but he just oozed sex without even fucking trying. It's sickening. And unlike his friend Mr. Neumann, Grey was most certainly _not_ an asshole.

Whenever I could spare a free moment this morning out of Kate's range of sight, I was able to research more about him. I learned a bit about all of the wonderful philanthropic work he's done in Africa. He's also in talks with several universities in consideration for gifting one of them with a huge ass research grant in order to pave the way for new green technology discoveries. And based on what Kate mentioned last night, our school – WSU Vancouver is probably on his short list.

I've been pitiful the entire morning. For one, every time I find myself walking past the mirror in my bedroom, I'd practice some of the dance routine that Bambi taught me, even though I felt extremely foolish in the process. I just don't look right dancing. I don't _feel_ right. I'll never look as natural and as poetic as Bambi, Starla, or any of the other gorgeous dancing women at Zion.

 _Why am I learning how to dance anyway? It's not like I'm ever going to see him again._  
But the very thought of never being in the same space with him ever again is a little depressing.

The way his custom-fitted gray suit hugged every muscle. _Oh god, that man absolutely works out all of the time._ And that messy copper sex hair. That little way his gray eyes danced when he laughed. His unique smell – so unique that if I ever breathed it in again, I would instantly think of him.

We were only alone together in that room for thirty minutes. And although I've learned even more about him on the internet, he is still rather mysterious. Grey's been photographed at tons of charity and red carpet events, but he's _never_ been seen with a date.

I don't believe for one nanosecond that a man like this doesn't have some girl clawing at him back home in Seattle. He's way too beautiful, smart, and kind not to have anybody.

 _Maybe he's gay?_

No…that man can't be gay. He knows way too much about how a female's body should move and how she should dress. Yeah, sure…he could still be gay and just know a hell of a lot about women, but I don't get that impression from him _at all_.

 _I just believe that he truly appreciates everything about a woman._

The very thought sends a wave of tingles up and down my spine.

 _Goodbye, Fitzwilliam Darcy wet dreams.  
Hello, Christian Grey._

That's just it – maybe I'm over exaggerating this guy in my head like I have after pondering on all of those dashing men in my favorite novels over the years. What if Grey's really a jerk but hides it extremely well?

"You wanna head over to the bar tonight with the peeps?" Kate calls out from down the hall in our apartment. I'm currently in the kitchen finishing up our late lunch. I threw together two quick grilled cheese sandwiches and re-boiled some leftover tomato soup I made from scratch and froze sometime last month.

I _really_ don't want to go to the bar tonight. I had enough of people hanging around and drinking all week at my new job. Part of me is grateful that I have the day off, although strangely I yearn to perfect this new dance number in the studio with Bambi. I'm pretty sure she might have the rare night off today as well.

"Ana?" Kate calls, pulling me out of my reverie.

"Yeah…sure," I toss out there with no heart whatsoever. I really don't feel like hanging out at the bar with _her_ friends. Well actually, Belinda and Gabe are my friends – but Tiffany or Sasha? Not so much. Oh man…and the whole José thing. I still don't feel like broaching that hot mess anytime soon.

"I'm shocked you didn't have to work at the hardware store today," Kate says as she approaches the kitchen.

 _Shit._ Reality comes crashing back in. My best friend doesn't have a single clue that I now make a shit ton of money moonlighting at a gentlemen's club. _When are you going to tell her, Steele?_ Yep – I'm about _nine-nine point nine-nine-nine_ percent sure that she will beg me to quit if she knew. Sometimes it just seems like I have two moms instead of one.

Suddenly, I hear a buzzing sound on the counter and I shudder.  
 _I hope that isn't my mom._

When I view the sliver of a screen – _gosh I need a new phone that was made this decade_ , I don't recognize the number. _It's a Portland number._ I pick up.

"Hello?"

"May I speak with _um_ …" a male's deep voice pauses as I hear papers rattling in the background, "…Anastasia Steele?"

 _Who is this?_

I clear my throat. "Speaking."

"Hey there, this is Jay Dark over at the club."

 _Holy shit – it's the owner._

My eyeballs nearly tumble out of their sockets. I immediately think about one of the first things that Becky said during my orientation. Paraphrasing: _If any of the girls on the floor have the_ _ **pleasure**_ _of meeting or even hearing from the likes of Jay Dark, it's usually not a good thing._

"Yes," I say, trembling. Kate who has a concerned look on her face now has me locked in her sights. I hold up a reassuring finger before exiting the kitchen to take the call in my room.

"I hope I didn't catch you at a bad time, but do you think you could possibly come in tonight and work the floor for about two and a half hours? I'm running a bit understaffed today," he says.

I sigh internally in relief, yet a bit of nervousness still remains. _So why is he calling me instead of L-Mo?_ Sounds like I'm getting out of going to the bar with Kate and friends… _thankfully_ , but what am I going to tell her since the hardware store closes at nine tonight?

"Will six-thirty until nine work?" I stealthly propose.  
 _Please_ say yes.

"That's perfect." If I knew better, his words sounded like they are smiling back at me. "Thank you so much for coming in on such short notice."

"Anytime," I exhale. Again, I'm just thankful that he wasn't calling to fire me for that unauthorized private dance with his _mega VIP conquest client_.

As soon as the call ends, I run out to tell Kate that I have to work a few hours at Clayton's until closing in order to help out with the sudden rush. She's disappointed, yet understanding.

"Maybe you can meet us at the bar once you're done," she offers.

 _I'd rather not._

….

I enter the servers' boudoir fifteen minutes before the start of my ad hoc shift. The moment I open my locker, Bambi comes barreling in.

 _Bambi?  
In the servers' boudoir?  
Again?_

And what's equally confusing, she's not adorning some _beaded net_ ensemble. It's _Plain-Clothes Bambi_ in a black t-shirt and orange leggings. Very _pre-Halloween-esque Bambi_ , if I do say so. Her shoulder-length bob is currently pulled back into a short messy ponytail.

"London… _dah-ling_ ," she glamorously drawls, greeting me with a cheek-to-cheek kiss on both sides.

"Hey. What are you doing here? I thought you were off tonight, too. Did they call you in?" I ask.

She smirks a conspiratorial smirk. "Something like that," she replies, but she gives absolutely nothing away. "So look, I have an hour to spare to perfect what you and I started last night. How 'bout it?"

I gape at her. "Mr. Dark personally called me in to help with the sudden rush on the floor."

"I just saw him and he says that things aren't set to pick up for another hour, giving us more than enough time to nail down our routine."

 _Huh?_ I am beyond confused. _Why is she here on her day off and why would she be here solely to teach me how to dance?_ All of these thoughts parse my mind, but I don't even bother to bring them up to her. Instead, I look down at myself and I'm already _dance studio ready_ in sweats and sneakers.

 _Oh, what the hell._

"Fine," I relent.

….

On our way over to the studio, I see that L-Mo's office door is wide open and I peek inside. She sees me.

"London sweetie. _Hey_ ," she greets, stopping me cold in my tracks. I back up and step _just_ inside. Bambi comes behind me.

"Hi. _Um_ …Mr. Dark called me in to help out with the dinner rush, but now I'm hearing that things won't pick up for about an hour?" I say, unsure.

L-Mo simply nods with a slight grin, but doesn't say a word.

 _O_ – _kaaay_.

"So I'm on my way to kill time in the studio with Bambi."

"Fantastic," she finally responds. "We'll see you out on the floor in about an hour?" I nod. "Awesome. Thanks so much for coming in last minute. You're an absolute life saver," she beams.

I catch a trace of hidden meaning behind her words due to her awkward expression, but I simply brush it off and resume the trek with Bambi to the studio.

….

"And _five_ … _six_ … _seven_ … _eight_ …"

By minute thirty, I'm popping my ass like a pro and flexing muscles I never knew I even had to PCD's _Don't Cha_. As I glance at myself every so often in the mirrors, I astonish even me.

"…pop, pop…roll it, roll it…"

Damn, talk about a workout. It takes major core strength in order to be able to hold on steady to a metal folding chair so you don't fall over and bust your ass.

"…Leg lift… _slideeee_ …"

Bambi simply calls out the moves in time to the rhythm and I'm sticking each one. She said that this dance is even better with a slower tempo song, but she figured that if I could nail it with a rapid but sexy up-tempo ditty, the rest would be cakewalk.

And for the first time in a very long time, I am having an absolute blast. I feel confident and I am reveling in this consummate expert's praise. I honestly don't think that Bambi is bullshitting me. She actually seems genuinely impressed with what I'm doing today.

Although I must admit, yesterday's impromptu lesson started out a bit rough. It is fair to say that I was still a ball of nerves after what had taken place earlier with Christian Grey.

However tonight, I feel _zero_ pressure. I'm dancing because I want to, _not_ because I have to. Maybe that's why I feel so… _Zen_. This feels similar to the rush I get when I run my fingers across the pages of a juicy nineteenth century classic novel. It's positively surreal.

"Walk _one_ … _two_ … _three_ … _four_ …"

Ten minutes before it's time for me to shower and suit up for my shift, Bambi and I are perched side by side on the floor.

"London dear…you are a natural," she breathes. When I laugh, she flinches as if I just pricked her. I immediately stop and search her face. She truly looks sincere. I am flabbergasted.

"I'm serious," she strongly insists. "I've never seen anyone do such a one-eighty so quickly. It's been less than twenty-four hours. You and I have danced together for just two hours in total, counting last night and now. You never even danced like that before, yet it's like you went to bed last night and were possessed by a _dancing spirit_ in your sleep. It's fucking amazing," she says in total awe.

I'm speechless. In the five days I've known her, I never heard Bambi utter a single foul word. She's the consummate professional and woman. So if Bambi says that what she saw out there moments ago was _'fucking amazing'_ , I am prone to believe her.

"I was just thinking," she muses, "…that dance would be absolutely perfect to something like Britney Spears' _Gimme More_. It's silky and fluid. It's erotic." Her eyes lift very suggestively when she says it. "And I'm totally getting _dark-haired Britney_ vibes from you right now."

 _Hmm…_

Say what you will about Britney, but quite a few of her songs have a very sexy edge to them. So I can't deny when I think about pairing the seductive dance I just learned with a song like _that_ , the idea of that routine just _oozes_ sex.

But as eager as I am to try it one last time to that song, I need to hurry up and shower, get dressed, and make way out to the floor in order to help cover the expected Saturday dinner rush.

….

Thirty minutes later, I'm seconds away from stepping out onto the floor when Becky stops me.

"London!" she blurts out ever so awkwardly.  
 _What's her deal?_

I blink. "Hey…what's going on? Is it a zoo out there yet?"

"Uh, well…not _real_ …quite. Yeah – not _quite_ yet," she bumbles.

 _Huh?_ I'm starting to feel a little bit concerned for her.

"So do you know what section I'm working?" I ask.

"Table thirty," she quickly blurts out.

 _I said_ _ **section**_ _, Becky…not_ _ **table**_ _._

 _Fine_ – I say to myself. _Let's start with table thirty then._

In the four ( _now five_ ) days of me working here, I learned the higher the table number is, the smaller the party. Thankfully I don't have to begin my night working a table full of rowdy guys on what would've been an otherwise peaceful day off. _Let's just ease into this thing, shall we?_ Although I kind of hope that I'll eventually ease into the larger tables since they do tend to tip extremely well. When there are three or more guys at a table, they sort of get into a competition to see who has the bigger wallet. It's wild to watch.

 _Men and their testosterone._

Although, I did receive a nice chunk of change last night – getting paid a week and a half's salary in tips in just thirty minutes. _That certainly won't happen again._ On Monday, that money will be going directly to the WSU cashier's office. Perhaps I can just take it easy on the job. You know…coast for a while until my next school payment is due. Then I can haul ass in tips later and deal with the jerky clients.

I glance at Becky one last time. She looks as if she's trying to fight back a ridiculous smile, but I decide not address her silliness and go out to the floor instead. As I head in the direction of table thirty, I catch several gazes from clients and employees alike – but I ignore them. It's odd how I am able to tune out the lingering looks. In just a few short days, I've learned not to take things so personally. You never have a clue what's going through someone's head when your eyes and theirs suddenly meet.

Maybe it's because I'm the girl passing by that moment. Or perhaps I remind them of someone that they once knew a long, long time ago. _I've been there before._

It's taken some inner coaching, but I gradually got out of my own head while working the floor at Zion. Well, _kinda._ But the second I approach table thirty and lock eyes with the sole occupant, my heart stops beating.

 _Oh. My. God.  
It's __**him**_ _.  
He's back._

It's Christian Grey. And tonight he's wearing jeans and a tight charcoal-colored t-shirt underneath an unzipped leather jacket. He looks positively edible. _Fuck. Me._

And he's all alone.

 _Holy shit._

I am hyperventilating.

"Miss London." His voice harkens oh so sweetly, yet commandingly.  
He is masculine as fuck, and I feel like a bowl of Jell-O in his gorgeous wake.

" _Wha_ …what are you doing here? Don't you live in Seattle? Didn't you go back home?" I stutter frantically.

 _Settle down, Steele._

He snorts. "Well first of all, _yes_ …I do live in Seattle. And obviously I didn't return home if I'm still here," he teases.

" _I_ …I'm sorry." I'm extremely flustered yet embarrassed by my own reaction to seeing him again so soon after last night.

"Not a problem. I had such a lovely time yesterday, so I just decided to come back and enjoy dinner alone. And maybe if I'm lucky, perhaps…another dance?"

 _Fuck._

The girls. Those _fucking_ girls. All of them were in on it. Bambi. L-Mo. Becky.  
And Mr. Dark was the ringleader.

I sigh, but then my mind instantly flashes back to last night. I hear his previous words echo.

 _"_ _You need to feel it first._ _ **Then**_ _move."_

"I've been practicing what you taught me," I instantly blurt out, my bluntness astounding even me.

"Good, so you can show me your progress. I reserved a private room."

 _Jesus, take the wheel._

"You want me to dance for you? _Again_?" I gasp. He smiles and nods, and although I'm mortified on the inside, his sexy grin prompts me to smile back. As a result, I am fearful that my expression might not translate correctly, and instead, frighten him away. But what he says next cancels all of that.

"And I'm in a generous mood today, thanks to your beautiful smile." I blush at his words. "Maybe we can bring you even closer to your goal…for your tuition, that is," he croons.

 _Holy cow._  
 _What does that even mean?_  
I am freaking the hell out.

I then idly wonder if he's expecting _something else_ after the dance.  
I blanch.

 _Oh my god._

Yeah, I know that soliciting is absolutely illegal in the state of Oregon, but I do understand that some of the talent here at Zion will in circumvent the law for certain clients and throw in a little _somethin'-somethin'_ in Private Row if the price is right. I've already heard the stories.

 _Shit – would I have sex with this man even if he paid me to?_

I've never even had sex before – so if he thinks that my dancing is terrible, he's in for one rude awakening. But no, I don't think he wants sex from me. He can surely get that from _any_ woman he wants. I mean, hell… _look at him_.

He lifts a glass tumbler with a small amount of brown liquid remaining just to his lips and says, "I hope you don't keep me waiting long," before taking a sip.

My heart stutters but I manage to drag out an, "I guess I'll see you shortly," as I pivot my frame towards the direction of the back of the house. He then gently places his glass back on the table and winks at me while brandishing a sexy grin.

 _Holy shit. I am toast with this man._

….

The moment I reach the **_Employees Only_** area, Becky – who has her hands covering her mouth, greets me.

 _She was in on it the entire time._ Upset, I gently push her back and she bursts out laughing. "You knew. You _all_ knew," I angrily hiss. "Mr. Dark, _you_ , L-Mo, Bambi. _Bambi_ , with her – _Oh…let's just kill time and perfect the dance_ ," I mock. "Bullshit."

"And you did," Becky beams proudly. "Bam said that you did so awesome today."

I roll my eyes. "I was set up. This isn't fair."

Becky's eyes suddenly narrow, yet a smirk remains present on her lips. "You know what _isn't fair_? I'll tell you what's not fair. Christian Grey stayed in Portland another night _just_ to see you, London. _Christian_ _ **Fucking**_ _Grey_ ," she says with gusto.

I frown. "I'm _pretty sure_ that's not why he stayed. He's here on business and he got bored, so he called Mr. Dark."

" _Business_? On a Saturday?" she says with an arched brow. "I don't think so. He lives in Seattle. He could've gone home this morning and come back on Monday if it were _just_ business. That man wanted to see **_you_** , baby girl. Did you fucking see how he was staring at you out there – as if _you_ were the choice prime rib on the menu tonight?"

Becky, _stop_. You're being way too much.  
Seriously.

I mentally wave away her off-base comment. "Well, I guess I'd better get dressed, then."

" _Oh_ ," Becky swiftly interjects. "Before Bam left, she wanted me to tell you something. Do you remember the part of the dance when you sit down on the chair?" I nod. "Well, you're going to do that very same move in the private room, but this time it'll take place on Grey's lap," she smiles.

 _What?!_ I begin to hyperventilate. "I can't do that!"

"Yeah you can," she says, placing a gentle hand on my shoulder. "It's called a _lap dance_ , baby girl. And you are going to fucking wow him tonight."

 _Me_? Wow _him_? I wholeheartedly doubt that.

There are moments in life when you know that the inevitable is nigh and all you can think about is plowing past that event so you're no longer mulling over the terrifying anticipation. You just want to put the bullshit behind you.

I am now at this point.

"Let's just get this over with," I exhale. I abruptly march briskly towards the dancers' boudoir, and it takes a few beats for Becky to catch up to me.

As soon as we enter the room, a few of the girls look up from various spots and smile at me. One girl sits topless on her padded bench as she slides on a pair of fishnet stockings. Another girl who isn't yet in costume was in the middle of practicing a seductive dance move, her hips halting mid-circle when she sees me.

And then Starla approaches Becky and I, donning a beautiful shimmery pink ensemble. It's a spaghetti strap bodice dress with tassels hanging down her left thigh, but it leaves her entire right thigh exposed, revealing a sparkly gray garter. Starla's gorgeous locks are gathered into a single inverted braid, which hangs down her back. She looks stunning, as usual.

 _I wish I could pull 'sexy' off like her.  
Like Bambi._

Starla has this sort of drop-dead gorgeous, shy _yet_ confident thing going on. Her vibe is very _Marilyn_ , but with much longer blond hair. Starla is the epitome of a blonde bombshell. All of her moves are flowy and ethereal, yet precise. She's like a lullaby in motion. _Yeah...she's a dream with a fantastic ass._ Clearly, I don't get why Christian Grey doesn't choose someone like _her_ over me.

While Bambi on the other hand – she _oozes_ sex appeal. She's strong, bold and in your face, _yet_ loving. Watching Bambi dance is like being slapped hard in the face and then tongue-kissed afterwards. It's truly surreal. If Mr. Grey likes his girls rough and raw, Bambi fits the bill. However, Bambi's off today.

But so was I before I was called in and rudely deceived into dancing for him. And the question that continues to be raised in my brain off and on for the last twenty-four hours returns with a vengeance.

 _Why me?_

Why _me_ out of all of these beautiful and very skilled girls who actually do this for a living? I'm just here to serve food and drinks, and perhaps deliver the occasional splash of water into someone's lap. But I am _not_ a dancer.

However, I can't help but think back to how liberating it felt to fall into the rhythm while whipping my hair all around in the dance studio. I get butterflies reliving the moment of how freeing it felt to finally connect with the music and dance my heart out. Maybe I'll just do exactly what Mr. Grey told me to do last night.

 _Just lose yourself in the music, Ana._

Starla, who is definitely a hugger, quickly throws her arms around me. "So what are you wearing for your encore?" she purrs.

My eyes round in realization that I have to change out of my server's uniform and into some trashy get-up. I frantically turn my head and look to Becky for the answer. "We'll have to rummage through the _newbie talent_ stockpile," she says.

Starla frowns. "Those costumes are ugly. Why don't you look through _my_ closet? Everything's clean and you're just about my size."

Is she serious? No, we do _not_ have the same body type.  
Mine is like – _Meh_ …while hers is like – _Sweet Jesus_.

"Good thinking," Becky says as she tugs my arm. We trail down the long second aisle of lockers until we find the one with the huge golden star hanging on the door.  
 _Of course. A star for Starla._

Starla begins to suggest a few things, but they are all a bit too risqué for me. She eventually pulls out a bedazzled red bikini and wrap ensemble that's more _Jasmine_ from _Aladdin_ than anything else.

"Oh my god," Becky gasps as she takes the hanging garment from Starla's hands. She then holds it up to me. "This is perfect."

"No," I frown. "It's not my style. And that outfit from last night…he didn't like it. He knew that wasn't _me_."

Starla grins and reaches towards Becky to reclaim her costume. "So he likes his women a little more _innocent_ , huh?"

I feel a blush across my cheek. "He said that I should leave something to the imagination," I say quietly. "He also didn't care very much for the heavy makeup I wore last night."

"I just adore a man that knows exactly what he wants," Becky says, all dreamy-eyed.

"You and me both," snickers Starla. Suddenly, her smile is replaced by an expression of revelation. "Oh…I might have something," she says as she digs to the very back of her closet. Soon, she pulls out a simple long-sleeved black dress with an inverted slit in the middle, and one of the deepest V-necks I've ever seen. It's simple, yet stunning and _very_ sexy. She holds it up to me.

"Where did you get that?" Becky says to her. "I've never seen you dance in that before."

"Every girl needs a _little black dress_ ," she sparks. "This is mine. I haven't worn it in a while, though." She gestures for me to continue to hold the dress up to my frame as she steps back and surveys me. A proud grin begins to take over. "Yes, this is perfect. He'll love it."

Becky goes and stands next to her. Her lips pucker in deep contemplation, yet she nods. "I'm there. I see exactly what you're going for. It's like our work uniform _but_ sexier. And without the goofy white trim."

I glance at the two girls. "Can I get some heels that are actually comfortable? I don't want to bust my ass while dancing. I'm not even a _heels_ type of person." _I'm a chucks kinda girl._

"Honey, _honey_ …we will change that," purrs Starla. "You and I will practice your walk. Then Bam will continue to help you with your moves." Becky smiles her approval.

 _What?  
Why are they trying to groom me? _

I'm a nervous wreck, yet I try and push the lump of anxiety down my throat so I can focus on tonight and _only_ tonight.

Because after _that_ …once I'm done with this _one dance_ , I will hang up my pumps for good.

* * *

 ** _A/N: Faithful readers, I apologize for the long breaks in between chapters. Spring is normally a very busy time for me since it's when I do the most traveling for work. I also wanted to provide my readers with a set schedule so that I can continue to meet update expectations, which is why I announced that updates would occur on Saturdays._**

 ** _I will say that you MIGHT just get a pre-Saturday surprise next week due to my upcoming short workweek – but no guarantees. Just know that I am very anxious to get us all to Ana's second dance in chapter 4._**

 ** _Next in the chapter tentatively titled "Fixation" – Ana (aka London) captivates Christian so much with her first choreographed dance number that he's helplessly hooked. After he becomes a Zion-regular (only patronizing a certain newbie) a little competition will soon rear its ugly head._**

 ** _But first, Ana tries to perfect her new favorite hobby while meeting other master teachers along the way._**

 ** _Until next time. :) Thanks for supporting A Private Dance! – ST2_**


	4. Chapter 4 - Fixation

**Chapter 4** **–** **Fixation**

CHRISTIAN

"London will be here shortly," the blonde server from yesterday, named Elaine, informs me as I take a seat on the sprawling red velvet sofa in my reserved private room. "Would you like me to bring dinner now?"

"No," I tell her. "Perhaps in another ten minutes."

"Sure, Mr. Grey. Would you like me to go ahead and pour you a glass of wine?"

"Yes. Thank you."

As Elaine ventures several feet straight ahead to retrieve the bottle sitting on the longer glass table that's up against the wall, my sense of anticipation is at a fever pitch. Out on the club's main floor, London looked even more stunning than I remembered. I'm very much looking forward to seeing what she can do tonight.

I play back her most recent words in my head – _"I've been practicing what you taught me."_ And I wish that I could teach her so much more. But then I remind myself that I'm going way too overboard with this.

 _It's just a dance, that's all.  
Nothing else. _

Although I don't doubt that she picked up some good additional tips and tricks since I last saw her, I don't foresee her making such a dramatic change in her technique in just twenty-four hours time. Sure – once she stopped second-guessing herself and flowed with the music, she was able to turn things around in only a matter of minutes. However, I know that I am going to have to guide her once more since dancing isn't something that she is used to doing. It's evident in the way that her bones still lock up whenever she's in motion.

 _I wonder if she'd let me touch her so I can help guide her hips to behave as they should._

And as I think it, a litany of impure thoughts proceeds to flood my head.

Settle down, Grey – it's only _one_ dinner and a dance with an attractive girl in order to kill time on a Saturday in boring ass Portland, or _Potland,_ as my sister Mia calls it.

"Here you are," Elaine says, handing me the glass of pinot noir.

"Thanks," I murmur.

"I'll be back in ten. Please hit the call button if you need anything," she beams. I nod and she promptly leaves.

The moment I'm left alone in the vacuumed sealed soundproof room, my sense of anticipation heightens. I idly wonder what sort of get-up this girl will grace me with today. I hope she's taken heed to some of my constructive criticism from yesterday.

 _If she were mine, I could tell her exactly what to wear.  
In fact she'd only wear whatever I bought her. _

I quickly shake the thought, reminding my self that I already have a submissive back home – a _very good_ submissive, in fact. London is simply a distraction for the weekend. I refuse to break any rules in my standing agreement with Madison.

 _I'm just having dinner.  
It's only a dance._

Before I can take another breath, London breezes in.

 _Oh…fuck me._

I stop just shy of gasping, but _I am_ gaping. She's in a show-stopping short black dress that consists of a significant slit in between her thighs, along with a swooping, low-hanging cowl neck. She's sans bra as the swells of her breasts are exposed through the breach, even though her draping luscious brown locks obscure them for the most part. Around her neck are three thin gold chains – certainly borrowed. The ensemble is fucking gorgeous on her in both an innocently understated, yet screaming sex siren sort of way.

It's night and day compared to the overstated body suit from the night before.  
 _She listened to me._

Also to my delight, her makeup is very simple with only a trace of eyeliner and a kiss of blush on her cheeks. Her lips are coated with a very thin gloss.

She.  
Looks.  
Stunning.

Before I speak, I suddenly realize that there is a black rope wrapped around her waist. I almost hum in kinky satisfaction until I realize the black and red fob tethered to it. It's a panic button; I saw it around her neck yesterday. I certainly hope that she doesn't ever feel the need to use it against me.

 _Taylor would certainly be displeased if he had to rush in here in order to help me fight off security._

"You look spectacular," I rave.

London attempts to disguise a shy smile as she glides carefully to the center of the room where I am able to get an even better glance of her. And as ravishing as she is, you can't deny the uncertainty that's radiating from her. She's highly unsure of the current situation – but more particularly, she's highly unsure of herself.

 _She needs to relax._

After placing my wine glass down on the small glass coffee table beside me, I stand and take several steps over to where the bottle of wine and some additional glasses are – on the taller, longer glass table against a nearby wall.

"Thanks, but I could've gotten that myself," London nervously chuckles. "I'm supposed to be serving _you_."

 _You don't even know what you're saying right now, sweet girl._

I smirk but continue to twist off the loose cork from the pinot with my thumb and forefinger and pour her a glass. Once I'm done, we're soon standing toe-to-toe and eye-to-eye when I hand her the drink. She can only lock eyes with me for so long before her head shyly sinks.

My submissives never look me in the eye unless I tell them to, but there's something in me that falters the second her eyes and mine lose contact. I dismiss the thought.

"Have a seat with me for a few," I order as I turn and make way back to my seat and my wine glass.

After a beat, she nervously shifts over to the sofa and sits down with her drink. It's as if she makes the extra effort to sit as far away from me as possible, but I don't pay it too much mind. She's just very nervous. I aim to calm her nerves.

"You look very beautiful tonight," I tell her. And although I hope my encouragement eases her anxiousness, it's more than just words. She is exactly that – _beautiful_.

She laughs succinctly through her nose. "Thank you. Much better than last night's outfit, huh?" she quips.

I smile even wider. "Much."

London shyly lifts the glass with both hands and drinks.

"I hope you enjoy marinated black cod," I say to her. "Have you tried it here?"

Her eyes widen as she looks up at me with a tilted head. "I've never had the food here before," she says. The confusion on her face is more than evident.

"Well, there's a first time for everything," I remark as I take another sip.

If I could describe the look on her face, it would be _'floored'_.  
"You ordered for me, too?"

I nod. "I thought you'd probably skip dinner before coming in suddenly on your day off."

She narrows her eyes at me. "So, you knew that it was my day off."

A guilty smirk slowly occupies my lips.

While fighting a smile, she sighs, "Well, so much for a relaxing day."

"But wouldn't you rather relax while still making a little money for school?" I say temptingly.

A lump quickly rolls down her throat, and my palm suddenly itches.

 _I wish I could touch that neck._

Down, Grey.

"I wouldn't say that this is _relaxing_ ," she sparks. "You're putting me to work shortly, I presume." Her delivery is critical, yet soft.

This girl is beyond intriguing. Every time I pitch something at her, she lobs it right back. I'm not used to this. It's different, yet refreshing.

"I'm curious to see what you picked up in the last twenty-four hours. Who helped you?" I ask.

Miss London clears her throat and stares blindly at the glass that she is now holding up against her bare legs. "One of the veteran dancers here taught me a routine last night. We finished it earlier today." She then looks up at me. "I didn't expect to be put on the spot so soon after learning it."

My lips curl at her response. "So why did you learn it?" I challenge. She shrugs her shoulders. "For yourself? Or do you aspire to be a dancer?"

A nervous chuckle slips out from her throat. "No," she says with an adamant headshake. "I admire dancers, but I am not one."

"How do you know if you don't even try?" I counter.

London's brow arches. "You experienced the train wreck yesterday."

"I wouldn't say _train wreck_."

She sighs, "You _laughed_ at me."

 _Oh yeah. That, I did._

Smirking, I say, "You were trying too hard at first; but when you finally stopped _trying_ , your movement came quite naturally. I wish you could've seen it for yourself. It was a major adjustment in only a moment's time. That's why I'm anxious to see what you look like today. I'm almost certain you'll do well."

" _Almost_?" London says, now frowning up at me.  
 _What a sassy little thing._

"It's all up to you, really," I assure her.

Her mouth scrunches. "No pressure," she says ironically.

"None whatsoever. So tell me about this dance?" I say, highly intrigued.

And though she takes in a deep calming breath, she's anything _but_ calm. She swallows and closes her eyes before looking up at me with uncertainty. "Well today, I finished learning what I thought was a new, _fun_ dance; but just before I came back here, I was told that it's actually a lap dance."

I fight a smile.  
 _A lap dance?  
Miss London – I do declare…_

But in a flash it dawns on me that the dance may require touching.  
 _Her touching me – wherever she likes?_

 _NO._

I shudder at the thought. When I look up at her, I realize that she catches the rapid decline of my expression. Fuck, I wish I wasn't this way, but it's simply the way that I am. I must have control. I need to know exactly what she's going to do before she does it, or this is a _no-go_. I feel foolish considering the following question, but I decide to bite the bullet before things get to the point of becoming extremely uncomfortable for the both of us.

"Other than the _lap dance_ part, does this routine consist of any touching otherwise?"

London's eyes suddenly widen. Instead of speaking, she nervously shakes her head.

"From me or you?" I verify. When she shakes her head a second time, the knot lodged in my stomach begins to dissipate.

 _Thank God._ It's rather obvious that she picks up on my instant relief.

"So you prefer not to be touched?" she says in a quiet voice with a slight shiver.

"Not if I can help it," I answer as honestly as possible.

Then something in her releases, too. A layer of heaviness is lifted. It's as if she no longer feels the same amount of pressure she once felt when she first came in this room.

Although I wouldn't mind touching her, I don't foresee that ever happening. For one, it's completely out of line. I don't touch a woman intimately unless we're getting ready to fuck, and I'm not fucking _this_ woman. Secondly, touching someone else is not fair to my submissive back home. I'm already locked in a monogamous sexual relationship.

I'm simply here to watch Miss London dance one more time.

"Would you like me to begin now?" she says as she sits up straight, ready to stand at a moment's notice.

But before I can answer, there are two soft knocks at the door – which startles London. I smirk before turning my eyes to the door and calling out, "Come in." I then turn back to London and answer her question. "Dinner first, _then_ dance."

Now on edge, London clears her throat as we both turn to watch the door. A tall, burley bouncer holds it open as Elaine rolls in a dinner cart containing two large domes on top. She halts it right in front of me and locks the wheels in place with her high-heeled shoe before extending out and securing the wings of the table, making the surface much longer. She then removes the stainless steel covers and steam immediately envelops the room. Elaine expeditiously hands the domes to her massive assistant before turning to me.

"Black cod, mashed potatoes with hollandaise sauce, and steamed asparagus. Anything else for you, Mr. Grey?" she kindly asks.

"No. Thank you," I reply.

Elaine retrieves a new bottle of wine underneath the white linen-covered cart. Quickly, she walks over to retrieve the rest of the opened bottle along with an electric corkscrew. She places that bottle besides the new one and lays the corkscrew down next to it. "Let me know if you need anything else. You can also call me back in to take the tray when you're done, or you're free to leave it just outside the door – your choice," she offers.

"Very well," I smile warmly.

She immediately blushes and then turns to London, winking at her before leaving the room with her helper. Miss London closes her eyes in somewhat embarrassment as the door shuts.

"What was that all about?" I say to her with a curious smirk.

She sighs. "You're extremely popular among the girls here."

"Am I?" I say, amused by her exasperated demeanor.

"It's ridiculous how women fawn all over you. Do you care for it?" she asks in a genuine manner. I'm taken aback.

"What do you mean? Are you asking if I like it?"

She nods.

"I don't aspire to have that – if that's what you're asking. But I was asking why she winked at _you_ before walking out."

Her head moves backwards just a touch, and she's critically scanning me due to the nature of my question. "I don't know. I could ask you the same thing."

My eyes instinctively narrow at her candor. "What are you talking about?"

"You winked at me last night – after I'd just danced for you. Then you winked at me again tonight when I told you I'd see you shortly."

 _Oh yeah_ – I recall suddenly. A guilty smirk begins to take form across my lips.

"I don't know…maybe I'm just a sucker for _very_ pretty girls."

"There are tons of pretty girls here; _beautiful_ girls – yet I haven't seen you winking at any of them," she lobs at me.

Damn, she's so intriguing…keeping me on my toes by battling me at every turn.  
 _I must know more about this girl._

"Maybe it's because you're the only beauty here that causes my eye to spasm," I tease – and unprovoked, I simply wink at her again. I can't help it with her.

She blushes and attempts to shake it off. "Stop doing that," she says, trying her best to wane off her adorable shyness. It's alluring.

"Why?" I reply. She looks down at her lap without saying another word on the subject. I take one of the two silverware sets rolled up inside a cloth napkin and unravel it. "Bring your wine over here and come eat with me."

After I place the silverware near the closest plate, I look at her as I place the cloth napkin over my lap. London looks combative. I'm certain she wishes to tell me that she doesn't want to eat, but I flash her a borderline disapproving look, letting her know that rejecting her meal is unacceptable. To my surprise, she slides in with her drink in hand to the closest end of the extended cart. She takes the other bundled silverware and unfolds it from the napkin.

"Why did you order dinner for me as well?" she asks. "I don't know of any other dancer here who dines in private rooms along with her clients." I slide her dish closer to her and she carefully places her knife and fork on it before laying her napkin across her shapely legs. _They're very nice._

"But you're not a dancer, as you so graciously reminded me," I slyly quip before taking another sip of wine. I'm fresh out when I lower the glass, so I reach over for the open bottle to pour more. Once I'm done, I slightly tilt the bottle and gesture over to her glass with a nod of the head. She nods back and I reach over to pour the bottle's remaining contents into her glass before obscuring the empty bottle underneath the cart's skirt.

"So, tell me about yourself," I prompt as I lift my fork to try the fish. I taste it and as expected, I'm quite impressed. I wonder who the secret _celebrity chef of the day_ is. This blackened marinated cod tastes very _Nobu-esque_.

London is much slower to pick up her fork and sample her food. I watch her intently.

"Like what?" she quietly asks.

"Anything…" I say, reaching for the potatoes. "…Like your last name."

 _Her full name will give me everything else that I need to know about her._

She narrows her eyes at me. "You already know my true first name, which I wasn't supposed to tell you."

Her eyes soon widen as she watches me slide the fork slowly between my lips. Remembering herself, she shifts her sight from me to her plate. Thankfully when she takes her first bite of fish, she looks more than impressed.

"I think it's only fair to know your last name since you know mine," I counter.

She doesn't buy my argument. "I don't own a billion-dollar empire."

"Fair enough," I concede. "Still, I want to know your last name."

London looks up at me sideways. "Do you plan on stalking me or something?"

After I clear my throat and before taking another bite, I slide in a "Maybe." And although she laughs, the fact remains that I haven't been able to get this girl out of my head since seeing her last night. When our eyes meet again, she appears to be amused.

"I'd like to be able to pinpoint a full name to the cause of my symptoms," I tell her.

She chuckles, "Symptoms? What kind of symptoms?" Her laugh is so enticing. She takes another bite. I'm pleased to see her _really_ eating now.

"They include thinking about a particular girl constantly since encountering her the night before," I say. "I need a diagnosis – so what is _her_ first and last name?"

Once again, her shyness ensues; her gaze remains on her plate.

"Steele," she murmurs.

" _Steele_ ," I hum. "Anastasia Steele."

When I say it again – "Anastasia Steele" – she flinches.

 _Oh, what a sweet name for this_ _ **dis**_ _-ease._

"That's _Steele_ with an _'_ _ **E**_ _'_ at the end – _correct_?" I attempt to clarify.

Nodding hesitantly, she says under her breath, "I'll probably get fired for this."

"No you won't," I assure her. "And if you do, you can work at my company."

She laughs, "Yeah, right."

I frown. "Why not? What's wrong with my company?"

"Your _company_ is fine, I'm sure," she says; and I idly wonder if she's referring to my _presence_ or my _enterprise_.

"So what's the issue?" I ask.

"I live in Vancouver. I go to school… _in_ Vancouver."

Well, there is _that_ minor detail.

"Don't worry," I tell her. "I won't tell anyone that I know your full name. And if I were you, I wouldn't make a habit of telling anyone else here my real name," I say in warning. No telling what the next asshole billionaire who finesses his way back here with her would do with that information.

"And _you_ won't stalk me?" she says with an adorable smile.

"I never said that," I jest. _Or am I jesting?_ Again, she hides a blushing grin from me. For the most part, I find the constant reaction simply bewitching, however the rest of me wishes that she would stop being so nervous around me.

Maybe that bashful side of her will dissolve the moment she gets lost in her dance. The more I think about her dancing for me again, the more anxious I am to see her do it. But on that same token, I don't want to put any additional pressure on her in case things don't go as well as she hope. I'm certain the alternative to doing well would devastate her.

That's why I can't laugh at her making for the effort to dance at my urging ever again. Instead of laughing at her missteps, I need to guide her. I _want_ to guide her through this until she finds her own groove.

Elena was the first person who actually taught me how to dance. Since then, I've learned ballroom – in secret, of course. At first I took advanced lessons to impress her – and boy, was she impressed. After that it didn't take long for me to appreciate dancing as a whole since I already had an affinity for music.

I'd subsequently parlay my traditional ballroom dancing into raw club dance moves. I'd get my chance at the new genre after I turned twenty-one. That was when I started pursuing the kink scene at top-secret clubs that were _way_ more provocative than where I currently sit. I've met many women along the way who could move on the same level of the professional dancers here at Zion. However, the dancing at these other places was far raunchier.

I know Miss Steele – or _London,_ as she's known within these four walls – will impress me, especially if she's been practicing with the dancers here. The ones that I saw in action both yesterday and today on the club floor were very impressive. Although I have yet to see any of them utilize the stage that we dined next to last night.

I'm nearly done with my meal when I turn to her and ask, "So Miss _Anastasia Steele_ …what's your middle name?"

She laughs out loud. "Now you're going too far, Mr. Grey. I wasn't even supposed to tell you what I told you."

"You can trust me," I grin. "If you want anyone protecting you, it should be me."

"Is that so?" she says with a skeptical smirk.

I narrow my eyes at her. "This is a very dangerous business you work in, Miss Steele."

"Don't get used to calling me that," she bites, now no longer smiling. "I don't want to get in trouble with management if they hear you calling me by my real name."

"Fair enough," I say, displeased. " _Miss London_ it is. For now."

"For now?" she gapes.

"Yes, for now," I repeat ominously.

"You're rather bossy, you know that?" she says snippily.

"I'm fully aware of my assertive attributes."

" _Assertive attributes_ ," she chuckles in amusement. "So why did you pick me to dance for you last night? You knew I was just a server."

I'm enjoying this more _in-your-face_ version of Miss London tonight. It's refreshing. I'm glad I decided to come back to witness this other side of her.

"Do you really want me to be honest?" I say with an arched brow.

"Oh, please do," she practically scoffs.

This one has quite the smart mouth. I'm not used to allowing this sort of sharp-tongued behavior to continue, especially with someone that I'm paying; but with her, it's very becoming. It's quite difficult to explain my exact sentiment in words.

"I was invited here by someone who's company I've been trying to acquire for the past year."

"Mr. Neumann," she correctly guesses.

I nod bitterly, "Yes." _That_ asshole. "Anyway, he insisted that I get a lap dance. I wasn't interested." The expression on Miss London's face falls. "But then I saw you."

Her eyes slowly find their way back up to mine.

"There's just something about you that's different. It's different than any girl that I've ever met. And I'm determined to find out what it is."

 _Grey – what the fuck?_

I can't believe the words that are coming out of my own mouth. I'm only on my second glass of wine. _What the hell's wrong with me_? And she's just as shocked as I am based on her reaction. She's no longer eating. My eyes slant in disapproval.

"So you plan on coming back?" she says nervously. "Even if my dance isn't any good?"

Instead of addressing her question directly, I respond with – "I'm confident you'll do well. You did practice, after all. And to my delight, you heeded my clothing and makeup advice. As long as you get out of your own head and just fall into the music, you'll do wonderfully."

She takes another drink of wine. "Can I show you what I've learned, now?"

My, oh my – is that her liquid courage finally kicking in? _This soon – and she's just on her first glass?_ And the thought suddenly occurs that she must've partaken in a little _pre-game liquid supplement_ before joining me here in this private room.

"What else did you drink before coming back here?" I frankly ask. Her guilty reaction more than answers the question.

" _What?_ " – she gapes.

"What else did you drink?"

She flashes me an indignant glance. "Why does it matter?"

"Because, I don't find intoxicated girls very attractive," I say point blank.

"I'm _not_ drunk," she bucks. " _Buzzed_ , maybe." She tried to say the last two words under her breath, but I still managed to hear her loud and clear.

"You're not _quite_ drunk, but you still wouldn't pass the breathalyzer test if it were administered right this moment," I render.

She huffs and tosses her napkin on top of her remaining food before pushing herself away from it. I feel the flame inside of me starting to rise at the thought of her not finishing her meal. _Don't ever waste food in my presence, Miss Steele._

"What did you expect me to do?" she angrily charges. "How else am I supposed to get the nerve to dance for you when I _don't even dance_!"

The _very_ controlling side of me still wants to know what else she drank before coming back here, but I decide that this isn't the time to go there. Instead, I opt to reassure her that she has nothing to be nervous about.

Without saying a word, I stand to my feet and unlock the wheels on the cart. I hand Miss London her wine as she watches me with a critical eye. I place my glass along with the unopened bottle of wine and corkscrew on the small table near my seat before wheeling the cart towards the door. I carefully pull it open and place the cart against the wall just outside before rejoining Miss London in the room, allowing the door to shut by itself. Her eyes are dead on me as I reclaim my seat.

"Ready?" I smirk.

She shakes her head. "No."

I blink. " _No_? Why not? You just asked if you could show me what you learned."

"But that was before you accused me of being drunk," she bites back.

"I didn't accuse you of anything," I say in my defense. "I simply asked what it was you drank before coming here. You never answered me, by the way."

Miss London isn't impressed with my comeback. Her frown deepens even further.

"You're infuriating…you know that?"

"Am I?" I taunt.

"Yes," she hisses.

"Well, why don't you express that in your dance?" I simply offer. She stares at me for a beat, but her irritated expression doesn't wane; and neither does my slight mirth.

I don't know why I'm nearly getting off on her anger. It's borderline sadistic. _Though I am a sadist._ I dismiss the bothersome thought, but not before she turns her body completely away from me. She now faces the door.

 _What is her deal?  
Is she thinking about leaving?  
Did I push her too far?_

I'm startled when she places her glass on the floor and stands suddenly. I'm certain that she's about to bail, but she doesn't reach for her panic button hanging from her waist. Instead, she walks over to where the first bottle of wine once sat and grabs the remote to the stereo.

 _She's going through with this._

With remote in hand, she saunters back towards me – one high heel seductively in front of the other, with harsh, determined blue eyes glowering right at me. I'm more than convinced that she's being propelled by her anger. It's as if she has has something to prove.

I try to calm down my elevated breathing. I'm so fucking excited and I don't know why.

London hits a button. Two seconds later, the stereo sound system boldly declares:  
 **"It's Britney, bitch."**

When the hypnotic 808s kicks in, she quietly places the remote on the table next to my wine glass. In time, she slowly moves to the rear of the couch – my eyes following her every move.

My curious gaze locate Miss London's determined eyes the moment that Britney professes her desire to _'dance with you'_ – and it's as if _London_ is saying those exact words to me.

Soon, her front is out of sight as she swings around and faces the wall behind me. Her hands reach behind her back and hold on to the headrest of the sofa just a foot away from me.

The second her ass starts to shake in my face, that's when I knew that I was fucking done for. _She didn't move her ass like that last night._

 _Sweet.  
Lord._

After another four-count, and just before Britney starts to purr in song, London makes her way around until she's standing just beside me, laying both hands on the armrest. Dancing her fucking heart out, she suddenly whips her long brown hair across my lap before snapping back up, spinning around and popping her ass towards my face.

 _Well, then._

Taken aback, I adjust the collar on my t-shirt. London's literally in the zone – Britney pun not intended. Eventually she sashays until she's standing directly in front of me, but facing away. And in the moment that Britney growls on about going _'the extra mile'_ , London does just that by popping a squat directly on my lap. Her ass is _literally_ on top of my dick right now.

Holy. Fucking. Shit.

Instead of placing her hands on me, they grasp the velvet sofa. I keep my hands locked on my sides, trying desperately not to touch her. All in time with the beat and with all of her might, she turns sideways and leans back against my lap; her legs sexily gliding up one at a time in the air like two straight beams.

And as strong as the man I proclaim to be, I am getting weaker by the second.

This girl is fucking beautiful, and she's _killing_ this dance. I am beyond awestruck by her beauty, her scent, and her body – in both the fluidity and the precision in how she's moving it. And she's pressing that same body against mine. _Fuck_ , I can't recall the last time when all of my senses were _this_ overwhelmed.

Soon, she's rolling her hips upward and away from me, but not before my cock is alerted of what's going on. _Down, boy_. Teasing me with her moves, she dances beside me once more before returning back in front of me. Her hips and outstretched arms are swaying perfectly to the beat. I am mesmerized.

 _I knew she had it in her._

In spite of the learned routine that she has perfected in only a short amount of time, I know that this is far more than just _that_. Miss London has something extra inside of her that can't be learned. No master teacher could have taught her how to move like this. I certainly didn't teach her this last night. No, she had the secret recipe locked inside of her all along…that _je ne sais quoi_.

Still turned away from me, she's hitting every beat with precision and determination. Even though she's fueled by her irritation of me, I can tell that she is still lost in the music. From her profile, I see her hands glide sensually down her breasts as she squats. I'm getting a prize no matter where I look. To the side, I spy the profile of her enticing breasts, and directly in front of me is her gorgeous round ass. Her entire body is moving with a purpose. I'm stupefied.

 _That's right, baby.  
That's exactly how you're supposed to dance._

Before I know it, she's standing on my other side – throwing one of her legs across both of mine… _yes_ , in _that_ dress…and rocking her womanhood towards my face. If I were just a dirty asshole, unappreciative of this beautiful girl's art in motion, I'd be hunting for the treasure in between her thighs. But no, I stare up at her face in search of her soul.

 _Whoever Miss Anastasia Steele was before she first came in this room, she's no longer that same person._

And when the chorus hits, she drops to the floor into a series of timed kicks and hair whips. But it's when she leans all the way back until _her_ back almost touches the floor, I lose my fucking mind.

 _Holy shit. She's amazing._

 _Why isn't this girl a dancer?_

When the song fades and she ends her routine in my lap, I've already declared in my mind that _yes_ – this extremely beautiful woman in my midst is a _real_ dancer. However in that declaration, I've clearly decided that I don't want her dancing for anyone else but me.

I want to wrap my arms around her and show her my appreciation of what I just witnessed. But before I even consider breaking the _'red-lettered rule'_ etched on the sign just outside of the door, Miss London slides off my lap and turns to me with a look of sincere anticipation. She reaches for the remote and turns off the stereo before the follow-up song goes into full swing.

"So be honest," she puffs, out of breath. "What do I need to improve on?"

Her expression is genuine, and I am absolutely blown away. Picture Michael Jordan asking a novice if he should improve the way that he drives the basketball into the lane. This moment – her asking me what she should improve on after witnessing such a masterful lap dance is quite similar to that.

"Not a goddamn thing," I say point blank. I am still in a daze.

For the first time in many minutes, she smiles. "You're shitting me."

Without blinking, I say, "No…I'm not." I'm as serious as a heart attack. That dance was absolutely _show stopping-ly magnificent_.

And for the first time all evening, London deeply sighs in the utmost relief.

* * *

ANA

The moment I exit the changing stall in the servers' boudoir, back in the clothes I came here in, Becky and Elaine are right outside waiting on me. I blink in surprise.

" _So_?" Becky prompts. Elaine is just standing there wearing a stupefied grin on her face.

As soon as I start fighting a grin, the girls begin to squeal like two teenagers.

"Oh my God…he _loved_ it," Becky dreamingly sighs.

"I saw him before and after," Elaine starts, "and he looked _whupped_! Girl, are you sure all you did was dance for him?" she says with a scandalous grin.

I giggle, "Yes. I did exactly what Bambi taught me."

"I wished I could've seen you," Becky says longingly.

"You're _way_ stronger than me," Elaine says, shaking her head in defeat. "That man is too fine for his own good. Did you at least get to touch him during the dance?"

My head sinks the moment I recall reality. "No, he requested not to be touched."

" _Hmm_ ," Becky hums in contemplation. "So he's a voyeur."

"That's hot," Elaine says breathlessly.

Yet I don't think that's the case. I feel like there's _something else_ going on with him.

"So, did he say when he's coming back?" Becky probes.

I clear my throat. "He'll be back tomorrow night."

The two girls gape at each other before turning to gape at me.

"Holy shit," Elaine exhales.

Precisely. There is _no way_ I am going to be ready in time. I need to learn a brand new routine, and Bambi is not here to show me.

This is a complete disaster.

Becky narrows her eyes when she peeps my erratic expression. She walks up to me and holds me steady by my upper arms. She looks me square in the eyes. "London girl – I don't know what it is you did back there, but Mr. Grey is _hooked_."

"Baby girl," Elaine interjects, "you just scored Zion's biggest client in a _long_ time. You are the new _golden goose_."

I step back from Becky's grasp, shaking my head. "But I'm _not_ a dancer. I don't want to dance out on the floor," I say frantically.

"Look – as long as you're dancing for _one man_ , I don't see Mr. Dark having an issue with you still being a server. As long as Mr. Grey doesn't refer you to any of his friends, that is," Elaine laughs.

My head falls and I shake it from left to right. "I don't see that happening. _He's_ …" I'm truly at a loss for words. _Selfish? Possessive?_ "I don't even know what he is," I bluster out in irritation.

"Wait, was he a jerk to you?" Becky narrows her eyes in confusion.

I shake my head. "No. I mean, _yeah_. I mean…."

My mind is all over the place. He was bossy, _but_ caring. Then he was hot, _but_ cold. It's hard to describe him to anyone, really.

"So would you do it again? Dance _for him_ , I mean?" Becky asks.

Before I have a chance to answer, Elaine interjects, "She doesn't have a choice. You heard her. He's coming back tomorrow."

Becky takes in a deep breath. "He did love the dance, though – _right_?"

"He's coming back _tomorrow_ ," Elaine repeats – this time more slowly for the _hard of hearing_. I chuckle.

"I don't know if I'll be ready," I say to the two of them. "I can't do that same routine."

Becky ponders something for a brief moment. "What time is your serving shift tomorrow?"

" _Four_ 'til _nine_ ," I answer.

She reaches for her phone in the pocket of her uniform. "I'll text Bam. I think she works at seven. Let's see if she can meet you in the studio at noon."

"Noon?" I wince. "Will that be enough time?"

"You're right," she considers. "What about ten? That gives you a little more than six hours to learn a brand new dance. Maybe even _two_."

"She learned the last dance in less than three," another voice calls out from across the room. The three of us look up and see L-Mo breezing in, donning a fitted red dress and matching Louboutins. Along with her draping red hair, she looks like a ball of fire approaching us.

"London," she beams proudly. My head falls bashfully at her praise, but I look back up at her the second that we meet face to face."

"I spoke with Mr. Grey again before he left," L-Mo prefaces. "He couldn't sing your praises enough. He was so impressed that he set one last appointment with you tomorrow night before he returns home to Seattle Monday afternoon."

 _One last appointment?_ The gravity of the situation suddenly sinks in.

He lives in Seattle – of course I didn't expect this to last. However, this fact doesn't take away the sting. I really enjoyed dancing for him tonight. Oh well, I have one final shot tomorrow.

"Whatever you did back there tonight, keep doing it – except you'll have to bring it up a notch," L-Mo tells me with a look of determination.

I wince at her words. _Keep doing it?_ She even said herself that tomorrow night will be his _last_ appointment.

"You heard me," she says, picking up on my confusion. "Christian Grey alone has spent more money here in two days than our top VIP client has in _one_ _month_. If your dance blows him away tomorrow night, nothing will stop him from getting back to Portland any way that he possibly can."

 _Huh?! Noooo._ No fucking way he'd come back here if he were not already here for business. He's only here to buy Mr. Neumann's company. Mr. Grey said so himself – he doesn't go out of his way for travel these days, unless it's for business.

This is a very busy man we're talking about here. A _multi-billionaire_. He runs a multi-billion dollar _global_ enterprise. He doesn't have time to come back here for no freaking reason, just to play around with some _novice dancer._

 _I'm certain he can find a way better dancer in Seattle, that's if he doesn't already have one._ The very thought is nauseating. Hell, why do I even care if he has someone else? He's a _stranger_. And what would he want with some broke college kid, anyway? A man like that wants a woman that can already do for herself, and that's certainly not me right now. Hell, whether or not he has another private dancer waiting for him back home, who's to say that he's not in a relationship? If he has a secret girlfriend, fiancée, or even wife, a private dance to him is just that. It's _just_ a dance.

That's why he probably didn't want me to touch him.

I snap myself out of my thought-web and watch as L-Mo glances at Becky and Elaine. "I've already spoken with Bambi and she is _so_ excited." She then turns back to me.

"Tomorrow morning, baby girl…we're bringing out the big guns," she says with a satisfying smirk. I don't know if I should gasp in the fear of the unknown until I gaze over at Elaine and Becky. Elaine's wearing an _'awwww shiiiiit'_ expression, while Becky's eyeballs are nearly about to roll out.

"Is she bringing BD with her?" Becky says, almost in quiet reverence. L-Mo simply responds in a slow, proud nod.

"My God," Elaine breathes.

I look at the three women standing before me with narrowed eyes. "Who's BD?"

"She's _The Duchess of Seductive Dance_ ," L-Mo announces.

"The girl is fucking amazing," Becky says in total awe.

"She taught Bambi everything she knows," interjects Elaine.

I'm even more confused. "Does she work here?"

Becky snorts at my questions, while Elaine lowers down her head hiding a grin. I feel foolish for asking what I thought was a fair question, especially if this individual is supposed to be helping me with my final dance.

 _It will be the final dance, regardless of what L-Mo says._

"No," L-Mo smiles. "She's more of a _'consultant'_ , if you will."

"You'll meet _The Duchess_ for yourself tomorrow," Becky smiles big and wide before another thought crosses her mind. Now she looks reflective. "I wished I got to learn from her before I quit dancing."

"Maybe you can sit in on my lessons tomorrow," I blurt out, instantly regretting it.

"Are you serious?" she says with hope in her eyes. "I mean…you don't mind me sitting in and watching?"

"No, not at all," I say to her. Becky has been wonderful to me from the start. I know that she truly misses being a dancer. It would be fun to see her reliving those days in the dance studio.

"Alright," L-Mo says to me. "Get home and get some rest and be back at nine in the morning."

I gape at her. " _Nine_?"

She nods. "Yes, _nine_. We have a ton of work to do before Mr. Grey returns. I'll be joining you girls in the studio as well, but only to advise."

My nerves have suddenly peaked. I now have an audience and I'm not sure how I feel about it. It'll be Bambi, this _BD_ person, Becky, and _now_ L-Mo.

"Oh my God, can I come, too?" Elaine begs.

 _Oh no._ The girls immediately pick up on my hesitant mood.

"We don't want a full room," L-Mo tells her. "The moment we open it up, all of the girls will be clamoring to see BD's next masterpiece that London will be putting on display for Mr. Christian Grey tomorrow. Let's keep it down to just five for now."

And although I sigh in relief, a lump remains lodged in my throat. I'm going to be learning how to dance from a _professional_ , the same person who taught Bambi. _Bambi's teacher?_ This girl is probably the best dancer I've ever seen, and now I am going to be learning from the person who taught _her_? I am truly not worthy of this honor.

Not only is that mere premise grating my nerves, but the fact that management is putting the pressure solely on _me_ to make sure that Christian Grey comes back again after tomorrow – I mean _come on_. I'm just a lowly server who's not even really good at doing _that_. I'm _not_ Bambi. I'm _not_ Starla. I'm just a bookworm named Ana Steele disguised in vamp clothing and the alias _London_.

I'm nobody.

* * *

CHRISTIAN

I'm seated in the rear of my Audi SUV when I place my phone to my ear.

"Welch," his voice gravels from the other end.

"It's Grey."

"Good evening, Mr. Grey. How can I help you?"

"I need you to start a file on a _Anastasia Steele_. That's _Steele_ with an _E_. She's currently a senior at Washington State University in Vancouver."

"Got it. Anything else?" he asks.

"No. Let me know as soon as you got something. Email is fine since I'll be out of pocket until Monday evening."

"Sure thing."

"Thanks," I say before switching the phone off.

I close my eyes and in a flash, part of Miss London's dance replays in my mind in clear Technicolor. The way her hips moved. The way her ass shook. The way her face looked focused; determined. And when she sat in my lap, her soft brown hair brushed against my nose. I so desperately wanted to nuzzle my nose through her hair until it reached the skin on the back of her neck.

 _Grey, snap out of it._

I look up and spy Taylor's eyes in the rearview mirror looking back at me. I frown.

"Sir," he says. "I overheard your conversation, presumably with Welch. Is this an individual that I need to be alerted of for security purposes?"

I smile. _Taylor – always working_. "No," I simply reply.

In that moment, the shape of Taylor's eyes change form before he quickly shifts his gaze back to the road. _Is he judging me?_ I immediately get defensive.

"Miss Steele is a dancer at Zion. Well...she's not _really_ a dancer. She's actually a server. _Although_ …she is a spectacular dancer."

 _Grey – what the fuck, man?_

Why do I feel the need to explain myself to my staff? However, in all fairness, Taylor and Gail (my housekeeper) probably know more about me than anyone. I think it's fair that I clear things up for Taylor.

"Anyway, she's a college student who's working there solely for the money. I need to know whom I'm dealing with before I even think about offering to help her financially. I want to make sure that I'm not funding the habit of a potential drug addict," I say sternly.

And although Taylor nods, I still feel that he's judging me. _Fuck._ Even though I hold all of the cards being the one in authority here, it still isn't palatable to have one of my most trustworthy employees feel a certain way about me.

"Taylor, Madison is still the only girl I'm _with_ at the moment, if that's what you're concerned about," I assure him.

"Sir," Taylor finally speaks, "I didn't assume otherwise. Besides, it's none of my business."

Oh – but you _did_ assume, Jason. I _know_ you.

 _But do I even know myself?_

If I think my head of security is judging me now, just wait until I tell him to bring me back to Zion tomorrow.

* * *

 ** _A/N: Faithful readers – So, I wasn't able to cover everything I wanted to cover in this "Fixation" chapter, or else I would've been late posting this update since I'm on my way to a comedy show. Instead, we'll pick up what I missed in the next chapter tentatively titled "Addiction." Yes, our favorite girl will get addicted to dancing for her #1 client, while our favorite guy gets even more addicted to HER._** **:D**

 ** _As I mentioned in last week's A/N teaser, Christian will find a way to become a Zion regular, and then later, someone else will step on the scene and exert their 'seniority'. Mmm, hmm. Things just might get ugly._**

 ** _But first, we'll get to know "London's" new teacher "BD" who is very…different, haha! I can't wait for you to meet her._** **;)**

 ** _Until next time._** **:)** ** _– ST2_**


	5. Chapter 5 - Addiction

**Chapter 5** **–** **Addiction**

ANA

I arrive to a silent apartment not long before ten. Kate's presumably at the bar with our friends. I didn't feel quite up to taking her offer and joining them after work. I'm in no mood to be around anyone at the moment – especially since I have insurmountable pressure swirling around inside of me like a tornado.

From arriving at Zion to presumably help with Mr. Dark's unplanned dinner rush for a couple of hours and then suddenly being tugged away by Bambi to the dance studio to finish learning a routine I started the night before, to coming out to serve on the floor – only to be stunned senseless by the reappearance of the one and only, Mr. Christian Grey.

 _Damn, he was quite the delicious vision – shit eating smirk and all._

What's even more perplexing was that all of the girls were in on it; heck, even Mr. Dark. Although I was later informed that Mr. Grey had insisted on surprising me this evening.

 _Why me?_

I love surprises, but not _this_ kind. I was a fucking mess – so much so that I downed three shots of tequila this time instead of two. Granted, the shot glasses weren't filled to the brim…but still. And Grey was fairly accurate regarding my state of sobriety at that time. If it weren't for the help of the tequila and the bit of wine I had in the private room, I wouldn't have had the courage to do what I did back there.

Also, Grey pissing me off helped. I was able to counter that nervous energy with anger and channel all of that emotion into the dance. The way he chastened me, I immediately thought – _Hey asshole, my dad's in Montesano. I don't need you scolding me about how much I drank._

Yeah, the pressure is _definitely_ on for tomorrow. Not only am I going to be up early on a Sunday in order to get to the studio and learn a new dance from the very master who taught Bambi, but that evening I am going to have to do it without any assistance from _Mr. Jose Cuervo_. I'm feeling nervous jitters throughout my body just thinking about it.

But as buzzed as I was, I still remember the rush I felt when I freed myself through the learned routine. I even recall improvising a couple of moves, which I never thought I had the nerve to even try, much less dance for an extremely attractive man who laughed at my first attempt just twenty-four hours before.

While dancing, I felt free. Weightless. All of my fears, all of my frustrations were extracted out me and poured into movement. Normally I tend to hide all of my cares of this world under the words of Hardy or Shakespeare. But dancing is some strong, next-level panacea. It's physical. _Primal_. But best of all, it was such a rush to witness the look on Mr. Grey's face as I took out my irritation on the dance instead of on him.

Dancing tonight for him was beyond therapeutic. I idly wonder if it was just as therapeutic for _him_ to watch me in the act. Becky's words from earlier immediately rush to my recollection.

 _"_ _So he's a voyeur."_

I imagine the feeling of dancing being comparable to _really good sex_ – not that I know what that's like. Hell, I don't even know what _bad sex_ feels like, for that matter. Still, if sex at all feels like what I was experiencing when I hit every step of that dance routine – _and_ on beat this time, mind you – I am in for quite the treat whenever sex finally happens to me.

 _Oh shit…I could've sworn I felt something while dancing in his lap._

The very thought causes a charge to surge up my spine.  
My breathing elevates.

Did he actually enjoy the dance on _that_ level? Well, he did express how pleased he was in the end. This time around, he didn't have any advice for me whatsoever. When I asked him what I should've done differently, I believe his exact words were – " _Not a goddamn thing."_ With praise like that from a man like this, that was definitely a tall order I managed to carry out. Just thinking about it, a smile can't help _but_ overtake my face.

Yeah – he did look pretty stunned that moves like those would come from someone like me, especially after I bit it so hard the night before. I do feel a strong sense of redemption. And if I'm being totally honest with myself, I'm glad that he's coming back to see me do one final dance before he returns to his palace in Seattle.

 _Whoa, out of all of the dancers in Portland…hell,_ _ **in the world**_ _, Christian Grey has decided to waste three valuable weekend nights to see me._

 _Holy cow._

 _But what was up with the dinner?_

I blink at the memory. _Why did he insist on me having dinner with him? Why did he push me for my full name? What game is he playing?_ The thought of him using me for some sick billionaire joke causes a wave of nausea to surface in my stomach.

 _Was I simply the clown jester dancing before his throne?  
Was the dinner and conversation beforehand his way of fattening up the calf before leading it to the slaughter?_

Speculation after speculation enters my mind until I wish I _did_ end up meeting Kate and crew at the bar in order to drink these ill thoughts away. But reason finally settles in.

 _Calm down Steele._

This nerve-racking experience is helping me mow down a massive field of student debt. Good news is that this weird exchange between Christian Grey and me will come to an end after tomorrow night. So if he's truly using me for his sick amusement, I'll no longer have to worry about seeing him ever again after this third and final dance. And with the progress I'm making on tuition just dancing for him in three days, it's effectively shortening the length of time I'll need to remain at Zion. I'm sick of living a double life.

I also plan on being long gone if Mr. Grey ever decides to get bored in Portland ever again. However, I'm fairly certain that he won't be back after tomorrow night. He has a global enterprise to run from Seattle, so regardless of what Mr. Dark and L-Mo hopes, neither I nor anyone else will be locking him in as a VIP regular. Mr. Dark and team will just have to be satisfied with three lucrative days. Mr. Grey has already given both Zion and me a nice chunk of change.

Let's not be greedy, folks.

* * *

CHRISTIAN

After a shower and change, I view the missed call displaying on my locked screen.

 _Elena._

I'll have to arrange dinner with her sometime next week when I'm back in Seattle. It's been a while since the two of us had a proper catch-up. Indeed, she'd be more than amused hearing about how I found myself getting drug to some _un-nude gentlemen's club_ , only to end up returning alone two additional times.

Knowing Elena, she'd be thoroughly impressed with the likes Miss London. And although I've pondered having Elena visit Zion and checking out my favorite dancer for herself as a potential follow-up to Madison, I know that's absolutely out of the question.

Elena's first inquiry would be – _Christian dear, are you certain that she's even in the lifestyle?_ And the fact that London, aka Anastasia Steele is just a senior in college would certainly raise a red flag for my longtime friend. _Oh, the irony._

It's getting quite late and I've yet to hear back from Welch, so I decide to check my laptop for his email one last time before calling it a night. As soon as I launch the email program, there it is…attachments and all.

* * *

From: Welch  
Subject: Anastasia Steele  
Date: September 18, 2010 23:16  
To: Christian Grey

Good evening Mr. Grey,

Attached is what I've managed to pull up on Miss Steele. Please let me know if you require anything else.

\- Welch

 _Attachments: AnastasiaRoseSteele_

* * *

 _'_ _Rose'_ , huh? I smile at the thought as I immediately launch the file.

Well, looky here – she's freshly twenty-one as of eight days ago. I was right about how young she was. I also see that she currently resides in an apartment off-campus and not in a dorm. I wonder who her roommate or roommates are. _I'll get Welch on that._

What startles me is the ridiculously low amount currently in her bank account. Surely college tuition requires way more than six hundred some-odd dollars. Then I remember that she'd just started working at Zion this week. _But I tipped her – well._ I hope she's not running around the streets of Vancouver and Portland carrying tons of cash on her person. That would be the height of irresponsibility.

Her current 4.0 GPA at WSU Vancouver College of Arts and Sciences as well as her entry SAT score – beyond impressive. I see that her father died the day after she was born. _Shit._ She never even knew him. Perhaps that's why she's in the situation that she's in now, working at some high-end restaurant that delivers a side order of ass shaking, albeit with clothes on. Then I see that her mother has a string of exes.

 _Hmm – telling._

There are a ton of unknowns listed, too. Nothing on Miss Steele's history of religion, sexual orientation, voter registration, or relationships. _No past boyfriends, Miss Steele? Girlfriends?_

But what takes me by surprise is the indication of her part-time employment at a local hardware store. She's a full-time student who works _two_ part-time jobs? How does she even find the time to work _and_ study?

No listing of Zion in sight, of course. I idly wonder if any of my subs – past or present – were able to hide the fact of working at places such as Zion. Then I remember right away that there's not very much that gets past my people. Miss Steele only just started working there this week, so it's only a matter of the payroll data not yet being available. I'm also fairly certain that her paystub won't say _Zion_ anywhere on it. I'd expect it to be some other alias DBA that can be somehow tied to Jay Dark.

I minimize the document and decide to do a search on _Clayton's Hardware Store_ in Portland to see what immediately comes up before adding more to Welch's list. After parsing a few screens, I stumble upon a message board comment from just two days ago by someone named _Roddy D._ who's laments about the store going out of business soon.

Well, that explains a few things. Miss Steele more than likely has just _one_ part-time job. The timing of everything makes perfect sense.

After going back and forth with Welch's findings and thoughts about Miss Steele's sexy little dance number tonight, a sliver of reason penetrates my thick skull. Slowly, a sludge of guilt begins to coat my chest.

 _But I haven't done anything wrong.  
I never even touched the girl._

All I did was simply watch Miss London dance. I'm certain that if I were to tell my submissive about my visits to Zion, she wouldn't as much as blink about it. Still, I feel slightly hypocritical. I know for a fact that if Madison were to make me aware that she allowed some random Chippendale to grind their dick in her lap over the weekend while I was away, I'd utterly lose my shit.

I would terminate our contract… _immediately_.

I resolve that tomorrow will be my third and last visit to Zion. I'll be sure to leave Miss London a sizable tip before setting on my way back to Seattle. I hope what I plan on giving her will be enough to cover a significant portion of her school expenses so that she can leave Zion behind her, too.

* * *

ANA

I woke up this morning rubbing my thighs together like some little horny cricket.

 _What gives, Steele?_

I know that I dreamt about him last night, but I can't recall what the dream was about. I can still recall his scent. Oh, thank God he never touched me last night or I might've gone insane. It's bad enough that my other senses are already in a bind by this man that I'm certain I'll never see again after tonight.

After showering, getting dressed in yoga pants and Rolling Stones tee, and forcing a banana down my stomach (I wasn't hungry, but I'm sure I'll need the fuel after the hours upon hours of dancing that I plan on doing), I sneak out of the house before Kate exits her room and catches me.

I had to turn the key in Wanda three times before she finally gave.

 _I need a new car, desperately._

I unenthusiastically murmur the password at the door, quietly walk in – passing the girls at reception as they are busy with newly arrived clients, and make my way to the back. I make a quick pit stop to drop my purse off at the servers' boudoir before heading to the dance studio.

Upon arrival I see Bambi, Becky, and L-Mo chatting in the middle of the room with a woman wearing glasses, gray sweatpants, and a matching Riverdale High School hoodie. Her shoulder-length brown hair is pulled back in a messy ponytail. She looks to be around in her late thirties.

No, this can't be the so-called _Duchess of Seductive Dance_. She looks more like the lady who'd sign up to bring the _Frito pie_ at the _biannual cul-de-sac potluck_. When she opens up her mouth to speak, my first impression is cemented.

"Well, butter my biscuits! Are you the beautiful Miss London?" the woman gushes with a drawl that's origin is apparently _waaayyy_ further south of Riverdale High School in Portland, Oregon.

Bambi beams proudly as she waves me over, encouraging me to quickly step up to the group. Once I do, she introduces me to the guest and vice versa. "Yes, this is _our_ London. London – meet my longtime mentor, Mrs. Betsy Davis."

So _B. D._ stands for _Betsy Davis_. I idly wonder if that's _really_ her name, but somehow I would not be surprised if it were. It's a very southern name for a very southern girl.

" _Pl_ …pleasure to meet you," I stutter, awkwardly extending my hand.

"Girlfriend… _no_ ," she frowns at my hand before pulling me into a surprise hug so quickly, I gasp. "Honey chile, we're going to be just like family before all's said and done," she vows.

When she releases me, I'm practically light headed.

"Betsy is a miracle worker," raves L-Mo. "I had two up-and-comers who danced here that needed a little something extra. When Bambi couldn't figure it out, she pulled in Betsy." Both Bambi and Becky nod adamantly in agreement. "Just thirty minutes with Betsy turned them both into star performers."

I blink in surprise. _Her?!_ This lady who looks like she teaches vacation bible school actually teaches women how to lap dance?

"Do those two girls still dance here?" I ask quietly.

"One does," Bambi interjects. "Starla," she reveals, and I gape at her. "The other moved out of state two years ago."

Betsy starts to chuckle. "Seeing someone like me standing here in the middle of a gentlemen's club dance studio is knockin' your socks right off, isn't it?" she says in the most warm but ironic tone. I blink and lower my head in embarrassment.

"And you're right…I _am_ glorified soccer mom," she fesses. "When I'm not teaching dance for an hour here and there, I'm shuttling around four rowdy, snot-nosed boys from one extra-curricular activity to another. I still make the time to ensure that their daddy comes home from a hard day's work every night to a hot home cooked meal. In between that, I also head the neighborhood book club and sing in the church choir on Sundays."

My head nearly explodes. This sweet lady is such a walking contradiction.  
This has got to be a joke. I don't believe for one second that she taught Bambi and Starla how to dance as seductive as they do.

"Alright, I'll let you gals get to work," L-Mo says as she walks backwards before turning on her heel and heads towards the wood bench on the other side of the studio. Becky hugs me quickly and gives me one last reassuring smile, obviously sensing my trepidation, before following our boss.

I then face both Betsy and Bambi.

"So London, love," Betsy starts, all teeth. "I asked Miranda to tell me all about you so I could create the _perfect_ dance to show you today."

 _Miranda? Who the fuck is Miranda?_ I look to Bambi and she's smiling and nodding.  
So Bambi's real name Miranda? _Mind = blown_ for the second straight time in less than five minutes.

"I heard all about this hottie client of yours that we need to make sure leaves tonight with an everlasting impression. He fancies the sweet, innocent type – am I right?"

I gape at both women standing before me. " _I_ …I don't know," I stammer.

"Mr. Dark said that he turned down every single dancer _except_ for London," Bambi pours on.

"Which I'm not," I quickly interject. "I'm not a dancer. I'm a _server_."

"I'll be the judge of that, buttercup," Betsy says as she starts to circle me, examining from head to toe. "Sweetheart, are you a tomboy?" She's now standing behind me.

I snort. "More like _bookworm_."

"Romance novels?"

I give a single nod. "Mainly the British classic."

"Hmm," she says. I turn just my head and catch her deep, contemplative expression. She bites in both lips while her eyes narrow, focusing hard on my backside. _Or is she?_ "Someone once told me that bookworms who single out the romance genre are typically sexually repressed," she suddenly tosses out there.

 _What?!_ Is _Mrs._ _'I'm a proud mom of a Riverdale High honor roll student'_ really judging _me_ based on my love for books? I mean, didn't she just proclaim to run her neighborhood's book club?

"That's according to a very dear friend of mine," she qualifies. "I don't necessarily agree with that," she says as she returns back to my direct line of sight. Bambi just stands there, taking us both in. "We all need an outlet of some sort. An escape. For some, it's contact sports; for others, it's music and books. For me – for as long as I can remember, it's always been dance."

"Back when I was your age and in college at Ole Miss, I had a full scholarship with _The Dance Company_. One of my instructors wondered why in the hell would I remain in po' dunk Mississippi instead of applying someplace else…like _Julliard_. I never told her that I stayed in-state for two reasons, regardless of me landing a coveted audition at Julliard. One – for a boy," she says longingly. "My high school sweetheart, a west coast transplant who later became second-string quarterback at Ole Miss. And _two_ – Gigi McCoy, my auntie."

She picks up on my perplexity. "Gigi was one of the hottest strip teasers and lap dancers in the entire state of Mississippi. Heck…the _world,_ even. My momma and daddy dumped insane amounts of money for _years_ of formal training, and then I'd sneak over to Gigi's strip club and she'd pour gasoline all over everything I'd learned before lighting it with a match," she says with a fond laugh.

"To this day, my folks still don't know about me dancing with Gigi. My sweet dear ol' momma would have a heart attack and die right this second if I told her that her slutty, druggie sister-in-law showed me how to _drop it low_ to Tupac's _How Do You Want It_ ", she quips before letting out the cutest little southern belle chuckle.

This woman – this… _walking contradiction_ is beyond astounding. At first glance she seems so very uptight and the type of upper-middle-class bible-belt suburbanite that would judge someone like a Bambi or a Starla. But _no_ , this same lady allegedly trained the very likes of Bambi and Starla. I am beyond intrigued.

"Tell her what happened to the guy," Bambi admirably prompts Betsy while wrapping an affectionate arm around her dear friend.

"Well, his name's Joshua," Betsy beams like a teenager in love. "The same day I snatched my college diploma from the hands of the dean, Josh Davis and I boarded a plane from Mississippi to Las Vegas and got hitched. We then moved to his home town – Lake Oswego, Oregon. Sixteen years and four boys later, we're still here," she says with fondness oozing out of her. Her love story certainly gives me all the feels like an Austen novel.

 _I really dig this lady._

"What about your aunt?" I ask suddenly. This time, her face falls. _  
Oh no._

"My aunt Gigi didn't get to see me graduate. She OD'd her final time just two months before I was set to walk across the stage." My heart drops at the news. "It nearly destroyed me. If it weren't for Josh, my folks _and_ my dancing, I don't know what I would've done. I vowed to Auntie Gigi one of the many times she was laid up in the hospital for drugs that I'd keep on dancing _our_ _way_ …some way, somehow." She then steps away from Bambi and places a hand on each of my arms.

"And that's exactly what I'm here to do."

…

Betsy decides on teaching me a flirty naughty but nice burlesque lap dance number featuring a litany of hip swaying, shimmying, and wide flowy extensions to the tune of _Big Spender_. The moment Betsy first demo'd the dance in its entirety to me along with Bambi watching close by and Becky and L-Mo watching from the other side of the studio, I couldn't control my own gaping mouth and bulging eyes.

This sweet soccer mom originally from Jackson, Mississippi (I later find out) dances with the attitude and drive of a Jennifer Lopez, while maintaining the beauty and grace of a prima ballerina. She is absolutely sensational. This dance is way more complex than the one I learned from Bambi. As soon as Betsy executes her final step, I say to her – _"There's no way in hell I can do that."_ She only laughed and promised me that I'd absolutely _kill it_. I agreed at the time, but except in a totally different way.

 _Surely I'll murder this dance.  
What a complete waste of her precious time._

Nearly three hours later and now doused in our own sweat, Betsy and I sit side by side with legs folded in the middle of the floor while drinking out of our water bottles. The other three ladies chat amongst themselves on the other side of the room. At a certain point while learning the dance, I saw L-Mo and Becky gape in awe as I finally captured one move after the next. It was only after Betsy kept repeating – _"Leave the nerves at home. You're here to be free"_ – that it finally stuck.

 _"_ _Oh my God, girl! You're amazing!"_ – I heard Becky call out earlier. I wish that she were out here dancing alongside me. I could tell by her fleeting bittersweet expression that she truly misses all this. L-Mo and Bambi on the other hand informed me after my first complete run-through that they came up with the perfect outfit for me to wear during Mr. Grey's private show tonight.

 _Why is everyone making such a big deal out of this?_

Back in the here and now, I take another sip of water in the midst of Betsy's praise.

"You're a natural born dancer, London sweetie – you know that?"

I chuckle nervously. "That's what they keep telling me."

Her expression turns critical. "Yet, you don't believe it." I can only shrug my shoulders in response. "You know…I taught Miranda a similar routine nearly seven years ago. I met her when she temped at Josh's law firm." _Bambi used to work in a law office?_ The news takes me aback.

"She absolutely _hated_ working a desk job," she continues. "I could tell the moment I arrived with Josh's lunch that she was beyond miserable. So while I waited for hubs to exit his meeting, I had a nice little chat with her. She told me that she always wanted to be a dancer. Then I told her to meet me after hours at a dance studio where I tutored whenever I wasn't busy with Josh and our boys – there were only _two_ of them at the time," she says fondly.

"Then after I ran through the number, just like I did with you, I simply passed the floor right over to her." She fights a laugh. "That girl was beyond pitiful."

I gape in extreme disbelief. "What?" I gasp. _Bambi? Pitiful?_ No…she's one of the most beautiful artists in motion I've ever laid eyes on. This can't be. A woman who moves like Bambi obviously came out of the womb with that gift.

"You ever wonder how Miranda got her alias?" she challenges me. I don't even pretend I have an inkling of a clue. "I gave her the name after I watched how wobbly her limbs moved before she perfected her craft. Before she became great, she'd simply wobble around on those long gangly legs of hers."

Unbelievable. And all this time, I thought I've always thought of the name Bambi as the ultimate sexpot. Today, her dancing truly lives up to that sizzling persona. I never imagined her being compared to the cartoon fawn who struggled to stand erect on ice.

"It's true…all of it," Betsy stresses. "It took Miranda some time, but she got there and exceeded my expectations. She'd soon have the confidence that she needed to audition for Jay Dark and land her dancing gig." She laughs fondly. "I had no idea she wanted to dance at an exclusive gentlemen's club. But after she told me, I had to channel my Auntie and show her some very next level stuff."

Betsy Davis hasn't ceased to amaze me yet. She's a woman that can barely utter a profane word, yet the type of dancing she teaches could make even Madonna blush.

"London sweetheart – right out the bat, you're light years beyond where Miranda was that day she met me in that dance studio for the very first time. What you're doing now, that was lesson number _thirty_ for her. Just imagine what you'd look like a week from now if we keep on dancing."

I lower my head in a nervous smile. "I think I'm just going to learn and perform this one dance, then that'll be all."

Her eyes narrow in deep concern. "Why do you say that?"

I shrug. "I don't think this client is coming back after tonight."

Betsy pauses for a beat as she ponders on a thought. "So are you saying that you only want to dance for _him_?" Her frank question throws me for a loop.

" _I_ …I'm not certain," I stutter.

"Don't you like to dance?"

"Yes," I say too quickly. "I'm _really_ enjoying this."

"Well who's to say that some other rich, drop dead gorgeous hunk won't walk through those doors and decide to come back night after night simply to watch the _Beautiful Miss London_ dance her heart out? This dude ain't the only show in town," she sasses.

She makes an excellent point – but somehow, the thought of never dancing for Mr. Grey again is beyond sobering. Watching me intently, Betsy's expression softens even more.

"I knew that Joshua Davis was the only man I ever wanted to dance for," she muses out of nowhere, and right away I nervously wonder where this talk is headed.

"I'd always dreamt that Josh and I would eventually have a little ballerina girl. I'd have a field day just teaching her how to dance," she says longingly. "After we had our oldest, we tried three more times for a girl, but we continued to pop out scrappy little boys. So instead of trying for a fifth – I was already _way_ outnumbered in the testosterone department – I decided to give up on my dream of having a daughter and instead teach dance to little girls who weren't mine in order to fulfill that yearning. Now I'm a surrogate mother to almost a hundred little girls," she smiles in sincere contentment.

In a surprise move, she cups my face and looks at me with loving eyes. "You're a little older than the girls in my Tuesday/Thursday beginner's ballet class, but I'm certain you're going to be my next little sexy ballerina protégée."

I suddenly burst out laughing at the notion and Betsy caves, laughing right along with me before releasing my face.

"So, tell me about this hot new VIP client," she asks.

My eyes round in surprise. "Bambi and L-Mo didn't tell you?"

She shakes her head. "They just said that he was _sort of a big deal_."

"Christian Grey," I say, not knowing if his name would either produce the same effect as it did for me when I first heard it – which was _nothing at all_. However to my surprise, my name drop causes her to gape at me.

"Sweet baby Jesus…he's _huge_."

"So you're familiar with him?" I ask.

"Of course I am," she says, borderline appalled by my silly question. "Who isn't?"

I bashfully look at my fingers as I twist them in my lap. "I had no clue who he was," I admit. "Then he came back a second night after my first dance was a disaster. This time, he arranged dinner for the two of us before I danced again. I did one of Bambi's routines."

Just when I think her eyes couldn't get any bigger, they do.  
"Honey chile, you don't think that Mr. Grey's trying to get into your britches, do you?"

I crack up laughing. I really like Betsy. She is a riot. "No," I smile. "He didn't even want me to touch him."

"Maybe that turns him on…the fact that your sweet tushie is wiggling all around in his face and he can't touch it."

I laugh even louder. "That's what the girls thought, but I don't think that's it. I think he has a girlfriend back home in Seattle and doesn't want to cheat on her."

She hums and contemplates for a moment before saying – "But what if he _didn't_ have a girl? Would you be interested?"

Nope, it's not even an option. I'm simply here to do a job. I'm working at Zion to pay for school. That's it. I don't need a guy; I just need to graduate. And even if I were interested in landing Christian Grey, I'm not aspiring for anything complicated.

"The man's obviously way out of my league," I tell her.

" _Pft_ …I don't believe that for one second. Did you catch your moves out there, girl?" Betsy says, pointing behind her to the dance floor. "My dear, I'm confident that _you_ are more than likely way out of _his_ league."

I scoff at the very notion.

"I'm serious," she counters. "And when he comes back again – _this time,_ during the middle of the work week just to see sweet London dance once more, don't you dare be surprised. Another small sample of your sugar, and he'll never get enough. He'll be _hooked_. I mean…he's already addicted as it stands."

 _Addicted?  
To my sugar?_

I squint in maximum confusion.

"And just to show you that I'm certain about what I say, I'll teach you one more dance. _Big Spender_ will lure him back in, but this next smokin' hot number will surely keep him coming back for more…day, after day, after day…" she beams with unwavering assurance. I kindly laugh on the outside, but on the inside my mind is dead set on a certain fact.

 _There's no way he's returning to Zion after tonight._

* * *

CHRISTIAN

When I first arrived at Zion this evening, I felt beyond foolish. Nothing quite says – _'Grey, what the fuck are you doing back here?'_ like knocking twice on the door of some abandoned-looking warehouse and then yelling out _"The red pill"_ like a fucking idiot.

It wasn't until I was escorted back to the private room and then graced with Miss London's heart-stopping presence soon afterwards that I completely change my tune.

 _She.  
Looks.  
Sensantional. _

Miss London is playing the part of _the innocent_ to a tee with her gorgeous dark hair adorned in ringlet curls and pinned up in the back. She's wearing the hell out of that peach-colored ruffled chiffon mini dress. With a square neckline and short rounded sleeves, the garment is accented in the center of her abdomen by a sweet little bow. It's very _fair maiden_ …until my sights land on the sparkling silver strapped heels on her feet.

 _Oh, there she is._

On anyone else, this ensemble would be beyond tame. It's something that someone Miss London's age would wear to a cousin's outdoor summer wedding. But I know better. This sweet, innocent looking girl standing before me has something very naughty tucked up her poufy little sleeve.

And I'm fucking here for it.

"Well there," I smirk in satisfaction. "Hello, Miss London."

"Hello, Mr. Grey," she says, unable to hide her shyness. She sees that the bottle of wine and a second vacant glass is already sitting right beside me. I go ahead and pour her some and she takes a seat – much closer this time. I hand her the drink.

"So, how was your day?" she asks all of a sudden before taking a sip.

This is different. I'm usually the one prompting the conversation.

"Productive," I tell her.

"Ready for your big meeting tomorrow?" she asks.

"As ready as I can be."

She nods. "That's good."

"And you? How was your day?" I volley.

"Good," she smiles before her eyes fall back to her lap.

I clear my throat. "Why are you so shy, Miss London?"

I quick hear a rush of wind through her nostrils. A laugh, I presume.  
"That's just me," she says.

"But when you're dancing for me, you are totally different," I tell her. "You're more self-assured."

Looking back up at me, she blinks. "You think so?"

"I _know_ so."

She smiles. "I don't know why I didn't dance sooner."

I'm so very tempted to talk to her about her upbringing – about how she grew up never knowing her birth father. _Hell, I never even knew mine._ I brush away the nauseating thought. Besides, bringing up the topic would most definitely cheat me out of my dance tonight because I'm assured that she'd run for the hills the moment I tell her exactly what I know about her.

 _Miss Anastasia Rose Steele._

"Well, you're dancing now," I say, well pleased. "Tell me about tonight's routine. Did you learn it from one of the veteran dancers?"

Miss London tries to wane off a smile, but fails. "I learned it from the one who actually taught our veteran dancers."

 _Oh, really?_ This should be _very_ interesting.

"Does this person work here?"

She shakes her head. "No, she's freelancing."

"Hmm," I hum in deep contemplation. "Does she dance full-time?"

When Miss London's innocent chuckle sends a charge directly up my thigh, I try to fight it off. But it's useless. The bashfulness currently on display is a sharp contrast to her strong, seductive moves from last night. I'm almost nervous myself to see what she has in store for me tonight.

"No, she doesn't. She only teaches," she says to me.

"Well, you know what they often say – _Those who can't do, teach_ ," I tease.

London's serious expression is unwavering. "No…she _can_ , **_and_** she teaches. She had a full dance scholarship back in college," she argues.

I snort in amusement. "Where? Julliard?"

"She did get invited to audition, but no – she didn't go there."

"Where did she go?"

Miss London laughs and shakes her head. "Why? Why do you want to know? Is there even a such thing as anonymity with you?"

I flash her a flirty smirk. "No. I dislike secrets. I have ways of finding out the things I want to know about," I say cryptically.

Her smile suddenly wipes away. "So I take it that you took the information you pulled out of me yesterday and found out more about me." This woman's intelligence is astounding. She's very well capable of adding things up for herself.

I shrug my shoulders in response.

"What's my middle name?" she says abruptly.

Still smiling just a little bit, I close my eyes.

"Do you know it?" she says, the sound of her voice tinged with frustration.

"I don't know about you," I begin on a tangent with the pretense of avoiding her question. "But no matter where you end up putting it, a _rose_ is still a beautiful _rose_ …whether it's in a dessert in Nevada, the hills of Texas, or in the Montesano woods. Or even _here_ , in Portland."

London gasps loudly. "Oh my God. You _did_ research me."

I pay her shock no mind for the time being. Instead, I pile on. "Does your mother in Georgia still think that you're working at the hardware store? What about your roommate…Miss Kavanagh? This is a _very dangerous place_ you're employed at, Miss Steele."

She springs up from the sofa before spinning back to glare down at me, appalled.  
"Are you fucking serious right now?"

"Language," I gasp teasingly.

"Fuck that!" she seethes. "You had someone look me up! What kind of damned creep are you?"

My blood pressure rises, but I resolve to remain calm for the time being.  
It's very unlike me. I never allow a raised voice or backtalk from anyone that I employ.

"All of this information can easily be found using a simple web search. Between the different social media and career networking sites, you can piece everything together to find anything about anyone these days. _Now_ …would it be farfetched to assume that you've _also_ performed a similar search on me?" I challenge.

Just as I suspected, her expression changes from anger to guilt.

"And there you have it," I say in total satisfaction.

 _Grey – you are so good at this._

"But you're a public figure," she says with petulance. "I'm _not_."

"Neither am I," I argue. "I am _not_ a public figure in spite of what you may believe. In fact, I am _very_ private. My company is even private. GEH isn't even on the New York Stock Exchange's ticker."

"But you do tons of charity work," she argues. "You're even in the process of donating tens of millions of dollars to a university in order to initiate your green research efforts."

"So you knew that about me," I utter after feigning a gasp. "Do you also know which final two universities I'm looking at right now?"

And just like that, she suddenly turns away from me. Her expression runs the gamut between irritation, aggravation and confusion. At this point, I'm certain I've fucked up my opportunity for a dance. _She's definitely not in the mood._

"It's been in the news," she spits out. "I'm _not_ in the news."

Speculation has been mentioned in small independent articles, but nothing mainstream quite yet. That doesn't happen until my communications department puts out the press release. So it's obvious that Miss Steele has done some research of her very own.

Before I can respond to her, there's a very subtle knock at the door. _Oh, it's time._  
"Yes," I call out, and the door opens revealing Miss Elaine and her towering male accomplice. I'm certain that this fellow would rather be bashing some poor guy's head in and tossing him out of the club feet first than functioning as Elaine's _assistant_.

She rolls in with a cart, but the contents on top are much less than last night's spread. I turn to Miss Steele… _sorry_ , Miss _London_ – and she looks as frustrated as ever.

"I'm not even hungry," she snaps. "I ate before coming here."

But when she turns and catches the shocked expression on the face of her senior female colleague, Miss London quails.

"Calm down," I placate. "It's just dessert."

When Elaine and her partner leaves, I remove the stainless steel cover off of two piping hot single servings of molten chocolate cake, both with a side of vanilla bean ice cream. The moment Miss London feasts her eyes on the tempting treat, she almost immediately changes her tune.

"So, are you interested in having dessert? If not, I can send one back and you can watch me eat mine," I tease with a straight face. Finally, she sits down and scoots in closer to the cart with glass of wine in hand.

 _Now that's more like it._

"Maybe just one bite," she says, too stubborn – but I know that once she takes _one bite_ of this, she'll want another. And another. I had this very cake the first night I came here, and it was divine. I know she'll enjoy it, which is why I ordered it for us tonight.

I hand her a set of silverware wrapped in a cream-colored cloth napkin, and soon the two of us are digging in.

"I see you're dressed differently than yesterday," I preface in between bites of the sweet, gooey goodness. "I like this look on you. It's very reflective of your personality. Will tonight's dance match the look?"

Finally she smiles. "I'll let you be the judge of that," she responds oh so elusively.

 _Holy hell. I know I'm in trouble now._

"Well I certainly hope that you make it a dance to remember since I head back to Seattle tomorrow afternoon," I remind her.

Her beautiful blue doe eyes look up at me as she suspends a spoon full of cake in midair. "I'm certain you're more than ready to return home," she remarks. The moment the spoon slides into her mouth, her eyelids clamp shut in sheer ecstasy. My cock twitches in response.

 _Oh, yes.  
She likes._

"So, how's school been for you?" I suddenly ask, ignoring her comment about me returning home. When she blinks, I'm not sure if it's for the sudden subject shift, or the nature of my question.

"Good," she eventually answers.

"So you have no problems balancing a full course load with a demanding nighttime job?"

After taking her second bite, she looks at me and tilts her head sideways. "So far, the only demanding thing about my night job has been _you_."

My head goes back in sudden shock. " _Me_?"

"Yes," she says, now fighting a grin. " _You_. I've had to come here on my day off…for _you_."

"Well Miss London, I sincerely regret any inconvenience or interruption to your study time that I may have caused these past three days."

Her lips pucker in a flirty smirk. "No you're not."

My face gets overtaken but a ridiculous grin. "Well… _kinda_."

"I don't believe you," she chuckles right back.

"Do you have a boyfriend, Miss London?"

I don't know why I even ask the question, and her stunned reaction seals the regret. She looks down at her cake and melting ice cream.

"No," she says quietly, very subtly shaking her head.

 _Is she just sleeping with someone? Surely this gorgeous girl is getting some on a regular basis._ Right away I dismiss the thought. _I don't even want to go there._

"Why not?" I ask. "You are a very beautiful young woman."

Air shoots out of her mouth, but nothing comes out right away. It's obvious that she's contemplating on how to respond to my intrusive question.

"I'm just focused on school and work right now," she finally says.

"I see," I hum. "So there's not some frat boy over at WSU whom you enjoy dancing with at all the parties?"

She laughs, "I don't do parties."

"You don't?" I say, surprised.

"No…I don't care for them. I'd rather hang out with a very small group of friends."

I nod. "So is Miss Kavanagh included in that _small group of friends_?"

Her soft demeanor hardens once more. "Yes – Kate's my _best friend_. Did you happen to look her up as well?" Her reaction is less than pleased.

I give her a reassuring smile. "Not really, although I'm quite familiar with her father, Eamon Kavanagh, head of _Kavanagh Media_. But again, like I said…all of these things can be found in a simple web search." When she doesn't say anything for a few beats, I carry on the conversation.

"Do you think you'll outdo yesterday? That dance was quite spectacular. I couldn't stop thinking about it."

"You couldn't?" Miss London's eyes perk up and her mouth is agape ever so subtlety. The very sight of it nearly takes my breath away.

 _That delicious-looking mouth.  
Oh – the many things I'd do to it…_

And for the umpteenth time today, I mentally slap myself back into the present.

 _Control yourself, Grey.  
It's just a dance. _

"No, I couldn't," I say in all honesty. "So will tonight be the same?"

She grins. "No."

Her sexy succinct response makes all of my senses go haywire. By the time I'm finished with my dessert, I watch my company with heighten anticipation. To my delight, she clears her plate. Before I can stand to roll out the tray, she immediately holds out a hand to still me.

"I've got this," she utters with a sweet but salty smirk. Part of me itches to caress her small frame, while the other side wants to spank her across my knee for her smart mouth.

 _Oh, Miss London – what you do to me._

But after she wheels out the cart just outside and returns with stereo remote in hand, I don't realize how much those very words would come to mean so much more the moment she starts to dance.

She begins the dance positioned nearly two feet away from me. Spinning around to face away from me, she waits for her cue. The second the horns start to blare, she's popping her ass with gusto from left to right.

 _Holy fuck.  
I'm done.  
Dead._

The moment the triangle is struck, the satiny purry growl of legendary Dame Shirley Bassey envelops the room. When Shirley croons _'A real big spender'_ , Miss London goes down and then comes back up, smoothing both hands seductively up her sides. I just get a little tease of ass cheek as her mini dress suddenly rises and then falls. I'm reeling.

After a couple of leg slides and artistic arm raises, she suddenly twirls until she's even closer, and then pops a squat on my lap.

 _There you are, gorgeous._

I watch as she raises a leg high in the air before smoothing it back down to the beat with both hands until it reaches the ground. She's in her element, dancing like no one else is watching. Dancing on _me_.

Too soon, she's back up again demonstrating her undeniable skill on the dance floor. Still looking away from me, she's shimmying with very fluid arm and leg movements. It looks as if she's been training for many, _many_ years. It's astounding.

I could watch her do this all night.

A certain segment of her dance has me laughing, but for a completely different reason than her very first night here in the private room. It's when she danced behind me, playfully shimmying her breasts directly at my head.

 _Boy, she's just eating this up.  
And so am I. _

Out of nowhere, I being to wonder if her song selection tonight has anything to do with the amount of money I've dropped on her in just three days.

 _Is this just about the money?_

Of course, Grey – are you a fucking idiot?  
That's why she's here.  
For the money.

So why am _I_ here? I could just as easily enroll Madison in a few burlesque classes if that's truly my brand new kink – but it wouldn't be the same. If it were just about _any_ beautiful girl dancing seductively for me, I would have chosen a different one to do it each night. But _no_ , it's _this woman_ standing right behind me that's making me feel this way. There's something about the way _she_ moves every inch of her body. It's the way she pours her heart and soul into her dance. It's surreal. It's beyond spellbinding.

Before I can proverbially straighten out my collar, Miss London literally flips over from behind the sofa and lands squarely on my lap. I practically lose my shit.

 _Christ!_

She grips the velvet sofa at the sides, temporarily lifting her ass off of my lap before going into a series of hip rolls and high kicks. My temperature is rising. What she's doing right now takes a significant amount of skill and upper-body strength. I'm gradually losing the battle in maintaining my sanity by the millisecond.

When Miss London squats back down on my lap, whipping her head backwards and forwards, I instantly wish that she were wearing her hair down so it could whip across me as she moved, just as it did last night.

Turning sideways on my lap, she goes into a series of steamy hot rhythmic pelvic thrusts.

 _Oh, so_ _ **this**_ _is what she had up her sleeve_ – I smile to myself. The dance started out quite innocently and then gets really naughty towards the end – just like her in real life.

 _Why, aren't you a little vamp, Miss Steele?  
I love it.  
All of it._

Soon, she's squatting on the sofa directly over me on all fours, and I immediately get visions of her kneeling in my playroom. I'm petrified knowing very well that there's nothing keeping my gradually hardening cock from being seen…or felt.

The song and dance comes to a close and she tilts her head sideways. She can feel me pressing against her…I just know it. And while her sweet breath tickles my cheek as she pants out in exhaustion, all I can think about is laying her on her back and making her breathe this hard after making her come.

 _Holy fucking shit, I want this girl.  
Badly._

I blink. Yes, I want her…but I _can't_ have her. Before I can say something highly uncomfortable, she immediately stands and then awkwardly hunches forward, just as bashful as she can be. Miss London has now left the building, leaving behind a shy Miss Anastasia Rose Steele. This girl is quite the conundrum.

"That was… _wow_ ," I say, speechless.

She's very grateful for my praise, but both she and I know just by looking at one another that _this is it_. There's not another dance after tonight.

I know she'll be difficult for me to shake, but this moment that signifies my final stop at Zion is for the best. She must finish school in Vancouver, while I have my own responsibilities and commitments back home in Seattle.

As our allotted time together comes to an end, we are both standing toe-to-toe holding our own fond smiles.

"It was truly a pleasure meeting you, Miss London. I wish you the very best in your all of your future endeavors," I say, extending her my hand. Startled, she awkwardly appraises it before taking it. _What's her problem?_ – I think. It nearly throws me for a loop.

"Thanks. And it was very nice meeting you, too," she says so sweetly. "I hope you have a safe trip back to Seattle tomorrow."

"Thank you."

Before I exit the building for good, I pay Zion what's owed before leaving five grand to Miss London. I hope that's enough to put a sizable dent in her school expenses so that she doesn't feel obligated to stay here longer than she must. I sincerely wish sweet Miss Anastasia Steele nothing but the very best life moving forward.

She has definitely made this one of the most exciting weekends I've ever had.

* * *

ANA

I had a miserable time sleeping last night.

I'd woken up several times at ungodly hours thinking about dancing. _And_ Mr. Grey. I went to class this morning feeling just like a zombie. And instead of concentrating on the lesson, I could only think about dancing. _And_ Mr. Grey.

In spite of my lack of sleep and concentration during class, it was such a wonderful feeling to hand the cashier nine thousand dollars towards fall tuition this morning. I'm fairly certain this semester will be paid for in full in no time, leaving not too much effort to earn what I need in order to cover my final semester. It's a good feeling, yet bittersweet.

After my afternoon class, I see a text from an unrecognizable Portland number.  
My heart leaps.

 _Calm down, Steele. He'd have a Seattle number, anyway._

 ** _Hey sweetie! It's Betsy._**

 _Oh, it's Betsy! –_ I say to myself, perking right back up.

 ** _Miranda said you totally killed last night! I'd love to show you the rest of what we started yesterday. How'd you like to meet me over at the club tonight after my boys go to bed? Does 9:30 work for you?_**

I groan. Why should I even bother learning the rest of the dance? It's not like anyone's ever going to see it. But then I eventually come to my senses and remember how at peace I felt just dancing. It's a wonderful stress reliever. I just hope that Betsy doesn't think that she's wasting her time teaching me to dance just for me, and not so I can dance for someone else.

I text her back and tell her that it's a go. I'm actually off tonight at the club, so that'll give me plenty of time to catch up on homework before heading there to meet Betsy after nine.

….

That night alone in the studio Betsy and me continue to perfect the second routine that she started teaching me yesterday. This number is one of the sexiest dances I've ever seen, _period_.

 _Too bad no else will get to see me do it._  
I shake away the ill thought.

I'm actually stunned that she's not teaching it to Bambi or Starla instead. I can totally see them and a few of the other dancers doing something like this out on the floor – maybe even as a six-girl ensemble. Those girls would absolutely be on fire dancing to this number.

When Betsy steps away to take a restroom break, I reflect on my first two choreographed dances. While I was first learning them, Mr. Grey wasn't necessarily the first thing that came to mind, although the dances would eventually be for him. However, leading up to the moments before I was set to enter the private room, along with the nerve-racking hours that followed my performance, I can honestly say that I'm totally obsessed over how he feels about my dancing.

That's why I can say that as of _this_ moment – as of _right now_ , I am dancing solely for me.

Regardless of what Betsy says, regardless of what Becky, Bambi, Elaine, L-Mo, or any of the other girls at Zion say, Christian Grey is _never_ coming back. He pretty much said so without saying it when he left here last night.

….

Tuesday night, I begin my shift on the floor. It's odd finally doing the job that you were originally hired to do. Yeah, I got a little bit spoiled pretending to be a dancer like Bambi, like Starla, in the presence of one of the dreamiest men to ever roam the earth.

 _Yeah – dreamy and frustrating._ I chuckle at the thought. Near the back of the house where the line cooks deliver the finished orders, I meet up with Becky.

"I just keep hoping that he pops up tonight," she beams. I wince at her. "You know. _Him_."

I narrow my eyes, shaking my head. "He's back in Seattle," I remind her.

"It's only a three hour drive," she sighs.

"Three hours to a billionaire is a lot. Time is literally money for him," I reason.

"Aren't you gonna miss him," she breathes.

My lips pucker up, suppressing a laugh. "You're crushing on him. Big time," I tease.

"And you weren't?" she volleys.

"He was… _different_. Strange, even," I say with deep thought.

" _Strange_? Like how?"

I'm feeling rather _open_ at the moment. So I tell her point blank – "Mysterious. And between you and me, he actually looked me up."

"He looked you up?" she gapes. "Like how? What did he find out?"

"He knew my full name, every placed I ever lived, my roommate's name, _and_ where I worked before coming here."

"Holy fucking shit," Becky gapes.

I nod. "He claims that it was just a simple web search, but I don't believe it. I even looked myself up and couldn't even find the stuff that he knew."

"Oh my god…why would he even do that? Why would he do that… _unless_ he definitely has a thing for you," she whispers, saying the last part with scandalous eyes. Then she laughs, "Oh, he'll be back – you mark my words."

I roll my eyes. Thankfully my table's food is up and I simply walk away without uttering another word.

Later on that night, a separate popular VIP client steps on the scene along with his male guest.

"That is one beautiful black man," Elaine groans to Becky and me as the three of us watch him from across the room.

"Who is he?" I ask.

"Dawson Jacobs. He runs a huge digital accounting firm," Becky says.

"Digital accounting firm?" I say, perplexed.

"Yes," Becky says. "He skips the brick and mortar and contracts out all of his people virtually. He makes a killing doing it."

"Sweetness the bartender calls him _Hot Chocolate_. And boy, _is_ he," Elaine drools. Her mind is absolutely somewhere else and not here with us. "He's originally from England."

Now Becky loses it as she does a double take at Elaine. "He has a British accent?"

"Mmm hmm," Elaine sensually hums.

"Girls, I _really_ gotta get back to work," I laugh at the two of them before rushing off to serve my next table.

I had no idea that I'd later be covering _table thirty-four_ while their regular server is tied up seeing to a very large party. Table thirty-four is in fact Dawson Jacob's table – _Mr. Hot Chocolate_ himself.

When I stop by with their dessert, Mr. Jacobs is sitting alone.

"London, _eh_?" he beams, reading my nametag.

Dressed in a tan vest and matching slacks along with a blue multi-colored shirt and tie, he's beyond handsome. His dark hair is cut very close.

Yeah, he's _very_ attractive up close. And _that_ accent. _Jesus_.

I nod. "Pleased to meet you, Mr. Jacobs."

"Dawson," he says. "Please, call me Dawson. So are you our new server now? I certainly hope so," he says with a flirty pout.

I laugh, "No, I'm just helping out in the meantime."

"Bummer," he says. "You're very cute…you know that?"

Immediately I get nervous and he catches wind of it.

"I'm sorry," he quickly says. "I'm very used to being forward. I know you just serve here."

I sigh in relief.

 _Yeah buddy, I'm not ever moonlighting as a private dancer ever again, so do you get any bright ideas._

"No worries," I say. "Do you care for more wine with your dessert? Coffee?"

"Coffee sounds smashing," he says.

I laugh. " _Smashing_?"

He nods. "Didn't you expect to hear me say such words as _smashing_ and _bollocks_ the moment you realized that this black dude had an accent?"

"Stop," I say, rolling my eyes at him while containing my laughter. "I didn't expect you to say _smashing_. I read tons of British literature, and I don't ever recall seeing that one."

"British literature, you say?" Dawson replies. His interest is piqued. "I studied the stuff back in Uni."

"I'm an English major, so I'm studying it right now," I tell him.

"Well, why don't you have a seat for a moment and let me school you on a few things," he happily offers.

And against my better judgment, I temporarily sit in Dawson's friend's vacant chair and embark on a friendly discussion about the works of Austen, Forster, and Dickens…among many others.

….

"So, is _Hot Chocolate_ the new replacement for Christian Grey?" Becky teases as I set to change out of my uniform and into sweats. I'm meeting Betsy shortly in the studio to finish learning one dance and begin another.

I frown at my new friend. "No. He's just really nice. He studied literature at Oxford along with business, so we had plenty to discuss."

"He's a book worm, then," she beams.

"I guess," I brush off as I toss my duffle over my shoulder and close my locker.

"Girl, are you immune to insanely hot guys who so happen to find you attractive?" she tosses out there, throwing me for a loop. I frown deeply at her.

"What's that even supposed to mean?"

"Hot dudes," she says. " _Rich_ hot dudes. Why don't you even give them the time of day?"

"Because I'm here to _work_ , Becky. I'm not here to pick up men," I snip.

"Fair enough," she acquiesces.

"What's your real name, anyway," I ask abruptly.

"Becky," she says matter-of-factly. I gape at her. "Actually, it's _Rebecca_ , but even my family and friends outside of Zion still call me _Becky_."

I'm astounded. "So why didn't you get a _real alias_ like the rest of us?"

"Because I have nothing to hide," she quips. "Everyone in my life knows that I work here."

 _Well, there's that._

"Fair," I smirk.

Yeah, Ray would completely lose his shit if he knew that I was working here.

….

As Betsy and I take a breather in the dance studio after an intense thirty straight minutes of dancing, I was surprised to find out from her that she's not making a single dime teaching me how to dance. I thought that L-Mo was paying her, which made me quite nervous since I absolutely refuse to dance for any other client ever again.

"I'm doing this simply for the love of dance. I'm more than excited to do it for free," Betsy beams proudly.

I honestly wish that there were something that I could do for _her_ since she's already done so much for me these past three days. I am getting a tremendous workout out from her as well as a hell of a stress relief.

And although dancing these past few days has been my therapy, it doesn't quite take the sting away from the fact that it's been two full days since Mr. Grey has left Zion for good. I can't help but wonder if all went well with his acquisition of Mr. Neumann's company yesterday, and whether or not that means he'd have more reason to stop by Portland every once in a while.

 _A girl can dream._

….

I arrive at work Wednesday night. I'm at my locker opening the combination when Becky, Bambi, Starla, and L-Mo bum rush me. I'm almost certain that Elaine would be present as well, but she has the night off.

"Oh my god, girl –he's on his way _here_! He's actually coming back!" Becky squeals.

A plain-clothes Starla is jumping up and down like a happy little girl on Christmas morning.  
L-Mo just stands there wearing a proud, motherly grin.  
Bambi is ecstatically dancing in place. " _We told you so_ ," she sings.

 _What in the hell's wrong with these people?  
Why are they crowding around me like this?_

" _Who?_ " I say with narrow eyes. "Dawson Jacobs?"

Becky snorts.

"Heck no," Bambi shoots down. "Christian Grey!"

My heart sinks down into my chest while a lump quickly forms in my throat.

" _No_ ," I gasp, barely able to speak. "It _can't_ be. He went back to Seattle on Monday."

I don't know what these girls are playing at, but this is September 22nd and not April 1st. Christian Grey did not come all the way here on a fucking Wednesday night just to see me dance. Just this past Sunday, he wished me a happy life and gave me five grand before disappearing.

 _Why would he ever return?_

The girls begin to all talk at me at once, and I freeze. After a few beats, L-Mo lifts her hand and everyone immediately quiets.

"Give us a moment," she murmurs, and the girls soon scatter.

L-Mo places a tender hand on my shoulder.

"London, Mr. Grey wants you to dance for him again tonight. He just wants thirty minutes. You and Betsy were working on a second number, right?"

I gape at her.  
 _Is this woman serious right now?_

She's telling me that Christian Grey came all the way back from Seattle to Portland – just so I can dance for him? On a _Wednesday_?

"Is he really here?" I ask quietly through the air bubble currently lodged high in my throat. I'm a fucking wreck.

She proudly nods. "He's back in Portland. In fact, I came back here after speaking with him on the phone. He's very much looking forward to seeing you again tonight."

 _He came to Portland on a Wednesday?_ Surely he's here on business. There's no way in hell he drove all the way here just to see me…and for _thirty measly minutes_ , no less.

And although part of me feels extremely shocked and confused, the other side is almost giddy. I've been working my ass off in the dance studio since I last saw him Sunday. I wasn't sure that I'd ever be able to share this sexy new routine with anyone else.

 _Well, I guess the girls were all right. Betsy too.  
He really came back to see me dance – in the middle of the week, no less._

 _If he thought Sunday's routine was something special, just wait until he sees this one.  
_ I try to hold back the giddy feeling. Hell, I still can't believe that Betsy even taught me such a hot dance.

"Why don't you work the floor for the next hour. Mr. Grey should be arriving shortly after that," L-Mo suggests.

I nod. Working the floor will absolutely keep me occupied versus waiting around and watching the minute hand on the clock slowly tick by.

"Any wardrobe requests for tonight's dance?" she asks.

"A dress. Something red," I quickly blurt out.

L-Mo laughs, "You've really given this some thought. Were you anticipating this, too?"

I shyly lower down my head. "When I think of this particular song and dance, I picture a short sexy red dress with a plunging neckline."

"Look at you, speaking just like the talent," smirks L-Mo. "You sure you don't want to dance instead of serve? Or do you only want to dance for _him_."

I freeze. I honestly don't know what to tell my boss. I genuinely love to dance. I enjoy dancing for Mr. Grey. But dancing _for good_ – _and_ for someone else?

I don't think I could do it.

"You don't have to answer that," she says, immediately retracting her statement. But I know she doesn't take it back out of regret. She simply takes it back because she already knows the answer to her question.

….

Out on the floor, I am amazed at how many faces I've already seen over and over again from just working here a little over a week. Most of the clients I serve are very kind. I haven't really come face to face with any assholes like I was warned that I would be by Becky when she first trained me. By and large, the clients are generally well behaved.

"London, girl!" one client calls out as I deliver food to another table.

"Hey there, gorgeous!" another one greets minutes later.

I banter a little bit with a few folks here and there. It's all in fun. These men are enjoying their time with us, as well as beautiful the stylings of Bambi, Starla and team. Believe it or not, it already feels like a second home to me here.

An half hour later, I'm standing over table twenty-nine, laughing with a client and his two male guests, when I look up at the bar and see Christian Grey sitting there and watching me. My smile completely wipes away as I take in his dark expression.

 _Holy shit, is he mad at me?_ _No, he can't be._  
But he's glaring right at me.

I suddenly excuse myself from table twenty-nine and make my way over to the bar.

"Hey," I say as soon as I reach him. I'm obviously surprised to see him as he clutches a tumbler containing brown liquid. _Scotch?_ I look over my shoulder and catch Sweetness eavesdropping on the two of us. She quickly turns away and returns to making drinks.

"Miss London," he says quietly. Ominously. "I was curious to come here and see you serving when I in fact have an appointment with you."

I wince at his sharp tone. It's as if he's chastising me.

"If you have an appointment with me, why are you sitting here at the bar?" I lob right back at him. Out of nowhere, his dark expression resides and the playful Christian Grey returns.

 _What?!_  
This man throws me yet again.  
It's beyond frustrating.

"Well, I had a meeting a short time ago that was set to end much later, but we actually finished early."

Instead of arguing with him about his erratic change of attitude, I simply nod.

 _So he_ _ **did**_ _return to Portland for a meeting.  
See girls – you're making much ado about nothing. _

"I'll meet you in the back," I say to him. But before I set off, he surprises me by grabbing me by the wrist, stopping me.

 _He's actually touching me right now.  
_ The very thought makes me feel almost lightheaded.

"Do you have any more great moves up your sleeve for this impromptu performance?" he teases.

"Maybe," I tease right back.

He frees my arm and I set off to prepare for a dance that I'd never even thought I'd ever be doing for _anyone_ , much less _him_.

* * *

 ** _A/N: Faithful readers – I REALLY wanted to bring us to the part where I mentioned about someone 'exerting their authority', but I must move that into chapter 6 now. I've been getting complaints from more than one reader that my chapters are just too damn long, haha! I'm so sorry about that and I will try to cut chapters off way sooner where I think it makes the most sense. This time it made sense to introduce the next conflict along with our two pivotal private dances in chapter 6, tentatively titled "Conviction"._**

 ** _The dance that'll take place on Thursday in the story will be um…LIFE AFFIRMING for our favorite sexy billionaire. Will Christian keep his sub after this dance, or won't he? There will also be a disclaimer when the time comes for those of you who can't stand to see Christian with anyone else. Remember, this story takes place in 2010 back when Christian was still a full-fledged dom with an active submissive. With that said, please keep an open mind because things will absolutely turn on a dime, but hopefully to everyone's satisfaction._** **:)** ** _This is the time when I humbly ask you to trust the writer._**

 ** _Finally, if you peeped my inspired casting for APD on Pinterest or Facebook and you're familiar with HBO's "Game of Thrones", you'd know that "Zion is 'Dark' and full of terrors" lmao! There's one remaining cast member on that roster that we have yet to be introduced to. Stay tuned. ;)_**

 ** _Also on the APD Pinterest board, I share the inspired dances and costumes for this chapter. If you haven't seen it already, you'll find it under storietella/a-private-dance_**

 ** _Thanks so very much for your love and support of APD. 3 – ST2_**


	6. Chapter 6 - Conviction

**Chapter 6** **– Conviction**

ANA

Unlike the last time, I arrive in the private room with two full shots of tequila coursing through my veins.

I'm wearing a sexy red dress that should be illegal; a micro mini halter with a neckline that plunges so deep, Bambi had to whip out her double-stick tape for protective reinforcement. To doubly ensure that no embarrassing wardrobe malfunction occurs during the dance, the slinky garment comes equipped with matching panties sewn in. The dress is beyond clever and fits me perfectly.

I can tell from the sexy satiny smirk plastered on Mr. Grey's gorgeous face that he concurs. He's seated on the red velvet sofa as normal, but today he's in a white dress shirt unbuttoned at the collar and dark dress slacks. He's not as casual in appearance as he was on Saturday and Sunday, but his attire today is much more relaxed than Friday's.

 _He looks simply divine._

"Well, well, well, Miss London," he croons, holding onto his customary glass of wine. "The lady's in red. You look magnificent tonight. Any particular reason why you're all dolled up?"

I snicker. "I was inspired by tonight's dance routine," I say as I walk up closer to him. He already has a glass of wine poured out for me, and he reaches to hand it over. I take it and nod graciously. "Thank you."

"You're very welcome," he says in almost a quiet hum. I nearly convulse.

 _He's here.  
He's **really** here._

Although he sits before me…flesh and blood, my brain still can't comprehend that this moment is now a reality. When he left here Sunday night, I thought he wouldn't return. Since then, he's only been a fantasy, a sensual figment of my uncontrollable imagination.

"You learned another dance?" he says with narrowed eyes. "Have you started dancing for someone else…perhaps for one of those men you were out there speaking to earlier?"

"No," I say too quickly, almost offended. "I've been enjoying dancing for myself these past couple of days."

"I see," he simpers. "You've been working with the freelancer?"

"Yes."

"So I take it that I'm in for quite the treat tonight?" he utters with a visage that could soak even the driest desert.

 _Holy fuck._

I don't address his remark, but instead ask him the question that's been burning me since finding out that he was returning to Zion.

"What brings you back to Portland so soon? Are you here on business?"

"No, not really," he smirks.

My eyes widen. "You didn't buy Mr. Neumann's company?"

"Oh, I did," he says matter-of-factly.

"So you didn't come to Portland today to tie up loose ends?"

"No," he says with a slow, seductive shake of the head. "I came specifically to see you dance."

 _Oh my._ My breath catches in my throat. I can almost feel the very blood coursing through my veins.

 _He came all the way to Portland from Seattle – on a **Wednesday** – just to see me dance._

The very thought is unfathomable.

"You drove three hours just to see me dance for thirty minutes?" I gape.

"No," he says, clearing his throat. And before disappointment has a chance to sink in, he adds, "I didn't _drive_ to Portland."

 _Huh?_ Right away, he picks up on my puzzlement.

"I have a helicopter," he qualifies. "It only took me 45 minutes to get here from my place."

Freaking hell – _of course_ he has a helicopter. I didn't factor that in when I wrote him off from ever coming back to Portland just for leisure. Silly me…he's a damn billionaire; _of course_ he has an air fleet.

" _Your place_? Like…your house?"

"Yes, my penthouse. My helipad is just above me."

 _Ooh-la-la._ Sometimes it's easy to forget how rich and powerful this man is when we're alone together in this room. Private Row is the great equalizer – it places both talent and client on the same level playing field.

"So, do you have a pilot waiting for you right outside or something?" I chuckle nervously.

He narrows his eyes. "Tonight, _yes_ – I do. However when I'm not drinking, I traditionally like to fly myself."

"Holy shit…you can _fly_?" I gasp.

"Mm-hmm," he hums, plainly. "I know how to fly helicopters, small planes, gliders…"

"Gliders?"

"Yes, sailplanes. Planes without engines."

I gape at him. "That sounds rather dangerous."

"It's extraordinary. It's one of my _many_ favorite pastimes." He ponders something for a beat before a secret smirk slowly takes form across his lips.

Wow…that sounds like a very expensive hobby; one that I wouldn't be able to afford even if I wished to try it – _which I don't_. The thought of planes, much less planes without an engine, scares the hell out of me.

He clears his throat. "I wish we were having dinner or dessert, but we only have a short time this evening."

I peep the round analog clock on the wall. "Less than thirty minutes, to be precise," I smile.

I don't wait for another cue. Instead, I walk to the nearby glass coffee table and place down my glass of wine before retrieving the remote to the stereo.

"So that's it?" he smiles in amusement. "You're just going to get right to it?"

I smile back, but I don't do it as confidently as he does. "Well you said so yourself…we're short on time."

He gives me a subtle nod, indicating that he agrees with my point.

 _Here goes nothing._

….

CHRISTIAN

After laying down the stereo remote, Miss London walks in virtual silence to the center of the room before standing in position with legs shoulder-length apart. Her eyes fall right to the floor. She looks nervous – I've seen this side of her so many times by now. But I know as soon as that beat drops, she will immediately transform.

And she does.

The strike of a gong suddenly fills the room and she's standing at attention. Her eyes, closed. Then her chest starts to move rhythmically to the beginning of Middle Eastern-inspired melody. Slowly her arms rise, floating up and joining together above her head as if a snake charmer's taken full control over them.

 _This is exactly what I came here for.  
This girl enraptures me. _

I left Portland this past Monday afternoon feeling a great sense of accomplishment. I finally got that dickhead Neumann to sign SNA Corp. over to me. As I sat alone at my breakfast bar that night eating the meal that my housekeeper prepared, I couldn't help but feel out of place in my own home for the first time. For the past three nights, I've gone to Zion and was serenaded in dance by this beautiful thing moving right before me.

The internal feeling of displacement got progressively worse by yesterday evening. It wasn't until I was gearing to head home from work this evening that I decided on the spur of the moment to call up my pilot and round up Charlie Tango – my helicopter – for a brief impromptu trip back to Portland…simply because I could.

And now I'm here.  
Witnessing greatness.

It's unbelievable how a shy girl like this one can just flip a switch and become a red-hot vixen that doesn't give a shit about who's watching her. When she enters her zone, you can't help but be captivated and follow her on a journey of great skill and seduction.

Miss London drops down with her hands to her ankles before wiggling her sexy body during her ascension. At the moment the Pussycat Dolls demands to _'loosen up my buttons'_ , London begins her aggressive approach, placing one strapped gold high heel in front of the other in time with the rhythm. Her hands then cup her breasts, first one and then the other, right on beat.

 _Holy fuck._

In that moment, I want to do exactly what the song is telling me to do to her. Dancing her ass off, she's a complete force of nature. And now, she's wiggling that beautiful body in my face, teasing me. But before I can reach out to touch her, she spins around, stylistically walking with purpose back in the opposite direction.

She stops…drops…pops…sways…teases and pleases.

 _Yes, this is what I needed.  
This is exactly what I needed to get me through the rough week. _

Each time I watch her dance, she gets more and more masterful at it. It's as if she's trained for _years_ , not days. It's mind-boggling. Tell me, who on this fucking earth can barely play _Twinkle Twinkle Little Star_ on the piano on a Friday, but then by Wednesday – just five days later – has mastered Bach's _Goldberg Variations_? This is exactly what the hell I am witnessing right before me. Miss London's movement is truly fine art in its highest form.

 _Holy hell_ – the way she moves her hips as she runs her fingers through her hair; taunting me. She's an absolute goddess. As her hips wiggle and snap so intensely in concert with the hard-hitting drumbeat, I am inanely surprised that her garment doesn't fall off.

 _This girl is a dancing machine._

Dropping back down the floor, she shakes and wiggles her ass all around as if she's possessed. She takes me with her...gliding her knees, spreading them as far apart as they can go; her arms stylistically snaking up into the air once more. As I am enthralled in her performance, there is a certain snake in the room that cannot be tamed.

 _Settle down, Grey.  
Don't you fucking dare lose control._

She goes into a kick before her arms quickly land straight behind her, and then flows into a reverse arch that presses her chest towards the ceiling with one heel positioned under her buttocks and the other heel seductively extended forward. And all the while, her tiny fitted dress sticks to her entire body as if it's painted on. I am flabbergasted.

 _But the science behind this…  
Where?  
How?_

At this point, I don't care anymore how her dress is staying glued to her regardless of her rigorous dancing; I just know that this girl is sexy as fuck, channeling the likes of Shakira, Jennifer Lopez, and Josephine Baker.

Miss London's dancing is my ultimate aphrodisiac.

The longer she goes on, the more I am ready for her to rise up and bring her dance closer to me – and _on_ me. Soon, she does just that. She stands and dances forward until she's within inches of me. When her hands seductively go up one thigh and her eyes land on mine, I can't help but crack a smile. I feel a combination of tremendous pride and unquenchable desire pulsing through me.

 _Does she know how she makes me feel when she dances for me like this?  
Can she tell?_

When the song nears the end, she's finally straddling my lap. I am gratified. _This is exactly what I came here for._ And when the room goes silent, it's just like that classic cartoon frog that abruptly stops singing and dancing; the seductive Miss London leaves the room and Anastasia Steele returns. Her head sinks bashfully into sudden shyness. I place my hand on her chin and lift her head until her eyes make contact with mine.

We are face-to-face and _oh so_ close. Her sweet breath hits me right between the eyes. A strong sense of desire lances straight through me. I suddenly feel avaricious. I don't want to share this wonderful gift with anyone else. I adamantly refuse.

 _This belongs to me._

Unwavering, I tell her, "I'd rather you dance for me and no one else."

She gasps. "But I'm not a dancer."

 _Bullshit._

"You're blind," I say emphatically. "You were born to do this, believe it or not." She blushes at my high praise.

Before I can consider wrapping my arms around her to hold her in place, she's off my lap and sliding onto the sofa to reach for her glass of wine. She begins to sip it, panting in exhaustion.

"The next time you see your _freelance instructor_ , please thank her on my behalf," I simper.

She chuckles. Breathless, she says, "I'll tell Betsy that you're a big fan of her work."

My eyes slant in response. "Your dance teacher is named _Betsy_?"

Hell – her sweet giggle just does something to me each and every time. "Betsy is a married soccer mom of four. She actually doesn't teach dance for a living, although she should. She's absolutely amazing," raves Miss London.

"Wait…Zion doesn't pay her?" I gape.

She shakes her head. "She does it simply for the love of it."

"Like you?"

Giggling, she says, "Yeah, but _you're_ paying me."

Teasing, I flash her a sardonic smile. "Who says that I'm tipping you tonight? I didn't even get my full hour."

"That wasn't my doing," she responds with a lopsided grin, failing to keep a straight face. "Why did you decide on thirty minutes, anyway?"

"I have a ton of work to catch up on tonight," I tell her. "I thought I'd leave work and head here real quick to see you dance, and then handle a few things before going to bed. And plus – it was such short notice for you. I wasn't expecting you to have a brand new routine in the coffers," I smirk.

"Well… _surprise_ ," she beams so sweetly.

"You're unbelievable, you know that?" I murmur. And at that, she blushes and then drops her head, zooming in on her twiddling thumbs perched on her bare lap. "Hey, how does that dress stay in place?" I ask the burning question. "I was expecting that thing to fly off at any given moment. That was such an aggressive routine."

" _Aggressive_?" she utters, pensive. "You didn't like it?"

"God _no_ – I thoroughly enjoyed that…maybe a bit _too_ much. Words can barely express how wonderful that was," I profess.

 _How saccharin-y, Grey._

Minutes later after some small talk, she's pouring each of us more wine. Watching the clock overhead, time is moving much too quickly.

"Did you have class today?" I ask.

She nods. "Every day. Though I'm done on Fridays before ten."

"That's not too bad. So you're able to get a lot done before coming here, huh?"

When she nods again, I know that there is something on the tip of her tongue that she's battling to spill out. It's then when it suddenly hits me that Miss London looks to have done a little pre-game drinking before tonight's performance.

I am beyond certain that whatever words decide to fly from her lips will stagger me.

….

ANA

"Does your girlfriend know that you came to Portland to see me?"

After I say the words, I immediately regret them. My words are acerbic… _sharp_. It's as if I'm making this situation out to be an affair of some sort rather than the business transaction that it truly is.

 _Hell, that's not a good look either._  
In reality, am I just hooking for him with my clothes on?  
This entire situation has developed into a huge fucking mess.

Mr. Grey nervously clears his throat after taking a sip from his glass. To my horror, he doesn't even look at me when he answers.

"It's complicated."

I gape, "It's _complicated_? Like how?"

He finally looks up at me. His lips don't move for a while, but I can tell that he's deep in thought. Finally he says, "I'm in a monogamous… _situation_."

 _Situation.  
_ Not a _relationship_ , but a _situation_.

My stomach bottoms out. I feel like expelling all of the wine and tequila I've taken in over the past thirty minutes, as well as whatever I ate earlier in the day.

"Oh, so you're screwing a girl who's not _really_ your girlfriend," I say harshly.

 _Dammit girl, get a grip!  
This man doesn't owe you anything._

"It's difficult to explain," he murmurs – and I can tell that he's highly conflicted.

 _What's wrong with you, Steele?_

Why am I doing this to him? He's been nothing but kind to me. He alone has essentially covered almost half of my tuition for the semester. Suddenly, my mantra comes back into focus.

 _Steele, you are here for one reason and for one reason alone._

"I'm _so_ sorry," I say contritely. "That was totally out of line."

His eyes rise up to look at mine, this time looking sharp. Accusatory.

"Are you going to tell me now what you drank before coming back here tonight?" he says in a stern low voice.

I quail. "Tequila."

"I see," he hums, striking his chin. "You don't need to do that. There's no need for liquid courage before you come back to see me. You are beyond talented."

I exhale. "You think so?"

"Absolutely," he nods. "In fact, I think I'll stop by tomorrow night as well to see you dance once more. Think you'll be ready?" His slow, seductive smirk nearly short-circuits me.

 _Geez – this man._

"I hope so," I answer with uncertainty.

….

CHRISTIAN

Less than hour later, I am home in Seattle and seated in my study. However, it's difficult to concentrate. My thoughts have been running all over the place since leaving Zion.

 _Perhaps Miss London can work for me exclusively.  
Maybe I can…relieve Madison and take on Miss Anastasia Steele instead._

I immediately talk myself out of the notion. She can barely stomach to perform a lap dance fully sober. She'd definitely crumble the moment she finds out what all I'd require of her every single weekend.

And logistically, a weekend arrangement with Anastasia Steele would be nearly impossible. It would more than likely require me to stay in Portland on the weekends while she's in school, which I'd rather not do.

I've already made a mess of myself by taking the last minute trip to Portland in the middle of the week, and I've also committed to doing the same tomorrow night. I had to cancel dinner with Elena at the last minute in order to fly out to see London. I lied and told her that I had some unfinished business in Portland and wanted to move our dinner to tomorrow, which didn't work for her. I told her that I'd have my assistant Andrea reschedule something for next week.

I just had to see Miss London dance after a shitty two nights at home. Well, not necessarily _shitty_ …more like _lackluster_. There is just something about seeing her dance that adds an extra spice to my night.

And for the past six nights, when I return home or to my hotel room alone, I can only think of her.

….

ANA

L-Mo decided to close the dance studio for five hours on Thursday. She didn't want anyone interrupting Betsy and me. So after my last class, I headed straight to Zion and into the studio where the upbeat southern soccer mom awaits. She's sitting on one of the wood benches when I pop a squat right beside her.

Usually, Betsy likes to open up our lesson with a little small talk. _Well_ …you think its all small talk until she suddenly switches from whatever you were just talking about, to walking through a brand new dance number inspired by the conversation that you _just_ had. It wasn't until yesterday that I realized exactly what her game was.

I remain on high alert as she begins to question me, although I know that I will eventually let down my guard with this kind woman and she'll just take from me exactly what she needs in order to create the ultimate dance masterpiece.

"So, are you serving tonight?" she asks.

"No – I'm actually supposed to be off. I'm only here to dance for Mr. Grey for thirty minutes."

"I see," she hums with a telling grin.

 _No way, lady – you're not getting me this time._

I decide moving forward, to choose my words carefully. However, she surprises me by completely changing the subject.

"You said that you live with a roommate. She's your best friend, right?"

I nod. "Yes, Kate."

"How long have you two been friends?"

"Ever since we were freshmen. We've been living together since sophomore year."

"So she knows that you work here?"

I immediately freeze.

" _Oh_ ," she says. "So she _doesn't_ know. Why is that?"

I feel rather _'put on the spot'_.

"Well, Kate can be a bit…overprotective."

"So you've been working here for a week and she has no idea where you leave off to practically every night? Where does she think you are?"

I close my eyes. "I was working at a family-owned hardware store. They cut my hours and pulled away my scholarship. That's why I had to come and work here," I explain.

" _Ah_ ," she says as a spark of revelation hits her. "So she thinks you still work at the hardware store." I nod in response. "What if she decides to pay you a visit there?"

I swallow. "Well, I'm afraid it's a little bit worse than that," I say with dread. "Any day now, I expect the news to come out the store will be going out of business. And I'm nowhere near covering my entire tuition for the school year."

Betsy gapes. "Wait a second…you didn't by chance work at Clayton's, did you?" I nod. Her eyes grow even wider. "Girlfriend, that's like my favorite store! It's so funny that I've never seen you working there. Josh and I go there regularly ever since he and I bought the house that we currently live in years ago. We were so bummed when we heard that the store was going out of business. The Claytons are such sweethearts."

"Yes, they are," I say soberly. "They've been nothing but kind to me, but there's no way that they can keep the store open. I hope that me leaving the payroll was able to at least free up some money to help them continue to pay the three full-timers, at least until they're able to land on their feet."

In a flash, Betsy is silent and deep in thought. Then out of nowhere, she snaps her finger as if a genius idea just dawned on her. _Please don't tell me that the closing of Clayton's just inspired a dance. I'd hate to learn that one._

"If your friend Kate asks you about where you're working, tell her that you met me at Clayton's, and then I hired you to babysit my four boys in the evenings while I help Josh out at his law office on a few high-profile cases."

 _Holy cow_ – is she serious?

"Look Betsy…thank you, _but_ …"

She cuts me off. "What did you plan on telling her? Have you even thought about that?"

My head slightly sinks. "No…I haven't quite mulled over the situation. I assumed I'd just cross that bridge whenever I got to it."

"Kate's a very strong personality, isn't she? She's an alpha female?" I nod quietly in response. "Just like my two big sisters and my best friend of twenty years," she adds. "There's no talking to those broads; they always think that they know better than you do. Sometimes you just have to tell little white lies in order for them to get off your back. The second Kate finds out that you're working at a gentlemen's club she will flip her lid. She'll then try to convince you to leave. Now, unless you want to go before reaching your financial goals, I'd suggest you take my advice and tell her that you work for me."

 _God…she's right._ I hate to admit it, but she absolutely knows my best friend _well_. That's exactly what she would do. Kate would drag me out of these doors, kicking and screaming. And I would let her because she'd find some way to make me feel ashamed about working here.

 _Dammit, Kate._

"Okay," I cave.

"Good. I'll give you my address in case _lil' Miss Kate_ ever wants to see where you work with her own two eyes. If need be, we can park your car outside of the house and then drop you off at Zion, if it ever comes to that."

"I don't think she'll go that far," I chuckle. "As long as she knows that I'm babysitting for someone, I don't think she'd pry any further."

"Good," Betsy says in satisfaction. "So on a different note," she starts, "one of the girls at the front desk handed me an envelope when I came in. In it was a large sum of money along with a note thanking me for helping you. It wasn't signed, but I have a strong feeling where it came from," she simpers. My eyes spring wide.

 _Holy shit._

Mr. Grey paid her?  
For helping _me_?

"How do you feel about him?" she springs on me suddenly.

If I wanted to be completely honest with her, I'd tell her that he's all I've thought about other than dancing for the past six days. But I'm not stupid. I know exactly what she's after.

"He's just a client," I unwaveringly tell her.

She flashes me a skeptical smirk and says, "You're not fooling me. I think he may be a little more than that."

I sigh. "Even if it were ' _more than that'_ – which it _isn't_ , he has a girlfriend back in Seattle."

Betsy's eyes widen. "Did he tell you that?"

I swallow, " I asked and he said that it was _'complicated'_."

She leans in closer to me. Her smile widens. "I'm no spring chicken, _London Love_. I'm an old married woman, but I still know the game. I'd say he's full of crap." Her candor dumbfounds me. "He's in no way serious about this girl. For one, he wouldn't have said _'it's complicated'_. And two, he wouldn't be making the effort to travel from Seattle in order to see you on a fairly regular basis."

A nervous laugh escapes me. "It's not really that deep. I dance; he pays. End of story."

"Well, deep or not, tonight's dance is going to make that man forget all about that _complicated girl_ back home," she proudly proclaims. "The next time you see him after tonight, you'll never hear about that girl ever again. She'll be a distant memory."

I purse my lips and shake my head. "Whatever you say. He's just a client."

"We'll see about that after I introduce the two of you to _Dirty Diana_."

An hour later, I'm in sheer awe. This latest creation from Mrs. Betsy Davis is the sexiest dance number I have ever seen, much less learned.

….

CHRISTIAN

"Christian darling – where are you?" Elena's voice calls out from the other end of the phone.

I am seated in the back of the rental sedan as Taylor drives over to Zion from the helipad that rests on top of a nearby three-story building.

"I'm back in Portland."

"Really? I thought you wanted to do dinner tonight after canceling yesterday, but you're back in Portland again for a second night. What's going on over there?" she says with concern surrounding her voice.

"Last I checked, you couldn't do tonight; so I had Andrea arrange our dinner for next Tuesday."

"My appointment this evening fell through, so I was hoping to catch you last minute," she says, disappointed.

"Oh well. You snooze, you lose, Mrs. Lincoln," I tease.

"What's going on in Portland that requires so much of your attention? I thought your deal with Neumann was signed and sealed?"

I can always count on Elena to question everything.

 _Insufferable woman._

"The acquisition has been embargoed, so I need to make sure that all loose ends are tied."

It's true, I did acquire Neumann's company, but the takeover so far has been seamless. It hasn't required me to be here in Portland at all.

I hate lying to my old friend, but she's too nosy for her own good. Elena knows all about me ditching Madison last weekend in order to stay here. I am beyond annoyed that my submissive can't even keep her fucking mouth shut regarding what happens between us. It's true that Elena may have introduced us in the very beginning, but my contract is specifically with Madison. Sharing anything with anyone, even Elena, is in fact in breach of our agreement.

 _I'll definitely have to teach Madison a lesson this weekend about the difference between acceptable and unacceptable behavior._

"Well, I guess I will see you Tuesday. Good luck and have a safe flight home."

"Will do."

I hang up from Elena as Taylor pulls up in front of the warehouse. I exit the car once it comes to a full stop, and soon I'm knocking on the door two times and reciting the annoying password.

The moment the big bouncer allows me to enter, I immediately spot Stefan Neumann behind him. He's standing at the counter talking with Jay Dark. They both turn and look at me.

 _Fuck._

"Grey!" Neumann says, beaming with outstretched arms. "So funny to run into you here, yah? You enjoy Zion? I am so glad I had the opportunity to introduce you to its wonder… _right_ Jay, my good friend?"

I look over at Dark and he appears beyond perturbed. The scantily clad girls behind the counter try their best to look busy, but I know that they are fully tuned in on our awkward exchange.

"Gentlemen, would you both mind stepping into my office?" Dark offers.

I narrow my eyes at him, displeased. "I'm not sure what this is all about, but I'm here for my appointment. I have to take off in forty-five minutes," I say in a huff.

I don't know why Neumann is here and why Dark is insisting on speaking to the both of us in his office. I'm only here to see Miss London dance and then head back home for the night. I don't have time for any bullshit.

"So you're a regular now, huh?" Neumann says with a shit-eating smirk. "You should be grateful that I introduced you to Zion in the first place. I've heard that you've been back several times since I first brought you here last Friday."

I glare at Jay Dark, but the guiltless expression on his face tells me that he hasn't said a word to Neumann. _It was someone else._

"I was just telling my friend Jay here that I would also like to sample _the sweet London_ tonight," Neumann slithers.

I am livid and unable to hide it. I could just take Neumann's head in my hands and bash it clear through the solid counter.

"I'm guessing that you're paying higher than the top-going rate for a private dance in order to keep on seeing her this way," he taunts. He steps up closer and then whispers discretely, "Last I saw, she was just a clumsy little server girl. Yet there's something about her that keeps you coming back for more. Do you take her back to Private Row in order to remake _The American Werewolf **in** London_? What does she do when the two of you are back there alone? Does she suck your cock good, yah?"

 _Motherfucker.  
You are dead._

I am literally a millisecond away from murdering this man with my bare hands.

"Boy, I sure do hope so," he continues. "That mouth of hers sure does look irresistible."

Before I can reach out and touch him violently, the bouncer steps in between us.

" _Please_ , Mr. Grey," Dark pleads from the sidelines. "Let the three of us discuss this in my office like gentlemen."

Neumann – that fucking asshole doesn't know Miss Steele like _I_ know her.  
He still thinks that her real name is _London_.

Fuck no – he is _not_ going to be left alone with her.  
I will make fucking certain of it.

….

ANA

Becky is carrying my costume for tonight in her arms when she arrives in the servers' boudoir. She and I hug before she hands it over to me.

"I can't believe he's come back two straight nights. It's inconceivable," she whispers.

"Yeah," I breathe. "I know."

"So, Betsy was just telling me that tonight's number will drive Mr. Grey completely insane. But if the dance doesn't do the job, I know this smokin' hot costume certainly will," she says with suggestive eyes. "Are you ready?"

I groan. "As ready as I'm going to be."

No matter how glad I may be about him coming back to see me dance, I can't help but feel awkward. Here I am, getting ready to practically seduce a man to the point of him leaving his _complicated_ girlfriend. Well…that's not _really_ my true goal.

 _Yeah right, Steele._

Okay – maybe it is.

This dance just oozes sex. The song that it's based on is about a woman who seduces a superstar in order to get exactly what she wants. She doesn't care that he has a girl back home; his girlfriend has nothing to do with her.

For the past two hours, I've been thinking about what Betsy said. If I were Mr. Grey's girl back in Seattle, I certainly wouldn't want him referring to me as _'complicated'_.

 _How would he treat you if you were the one in his life instead?  
_ I shudder at the thought.

I resolve to keep things on a strictly business level between us. I have way too much on my plate than to complicate my life with a client. I can ogle him all I want, admiring the way that his brow furrows when I say something crazy. Or the way his lips curl into that sexy little smirk he has.

 _God, this man.  
And I get to see him again in less than fifteen minutes._

The butterflies in my stomach are fluttering out of control.

"Go ahead and change," Becky excites.

As I turn to head into one of the changing rooms, L-Mo comes breezing in. The uncertain look on her face as she approaches causes the nervous feeling inside of me to soar.

"London, I just got word that you won't be dancing for Mr. Grey tonight," she murmurs.

Becky and I turn to one another, gaping.

"Apparently, Mr. Neumann got word that Mr. Grey returned here three other times. Mr. Neumann wants to pay Zion two times the highest rate, while paying you four times what you'd make dancing for Mr. Grey – _if_ we cancel your appointment with Mr. Grey and have you dance for Mr. Neumann in the VIP room."

 _Oh my god…no.  
No way I'm dancing for that jerk._

I nearly pass out at the news, but Becky holds me up.

"Fuck me," Becky gapes. "He wants to pay London eight G's?!"

 _Becky – are you fucking serious right now?!_

"Oh my God." I gasp, freaking out. "Is Mr. Grey is aware that he's trying to outbid him?"

L-Mo chuckles. "Shit, I don't know – and I really don't care. Baby girl, you are bringing in more in one week than all of my best girls put together bring in a whole fucking month."

"I'm not going back there with that guy," I say, putting my foot down.

"He's a fucking creep," Becky frowns. "But he pays well."

 _You are not helping, Rebecca._

"I don't care," I say, standing firm.

"Look," L-Mo says to me in a conciliatory tone. "Why don't we talk to Mr. Grey and see what he's willing to do. He obviously really likes you if he's back for a fifth night in less than a week."

"God," I sigh.

I feel like a piece of meat. I don't like this at all.

"I mean…maybe I should just keep my original appointment with Mr. Grey. I mean he was first," I tremble.

"Honey," L-Mo starts. "Sweetie. In this business, money talks. And Mr. Neumann's money is giving me the _Gettyburg Address_. In comparison, Mr. Grey is just whistling Dixie."

"But Mr. Grey's a multi-billionaire," Becky argues.

"So is Mr. Neumann," L-Mo strikes back.

"Mr. Grey owns his company now," I blurt out.  
 _Shit, was even I supposed to say that?_

Her eyes perk up. "Well then, he should be able to put up even more," argues L-Mo.

Whoa – what's this all about? She's putting me out there for the highest bidder? I'm not even a dancer! They promised me that I wouldn't have to dance for anyone _but_ Mr. Grey.

"I'm sure Mr. Grey is willing to negotiate," Becky says.

"No," I say, cutting them off. "I _don't_ want to go in there with Mr. Neumann."

"I'm sorry, but you don't have a choice in the matter, London. You dance for whoever I say," L-Mo hisses at me. I shudder. "And right now, I'm liking Neumann's offer just a little better. We _all_ win in this case. And you've already given Mr. Grey two dances so far this week. Give someone else a chance."

Now I know exactly how a hooker feels.

I feel like telling L-Mo and Jay Dark to kiss my ass and quitting right here on the spot. But I'd be walking away from earning almost half of my tuition for the semester in just thirty minutes. _HALF!_

I close my eyes and breathe, trying to find the silver lining in all of this. The fall semester will be paid in full tonight alone. I need to put my pride aside and dance like no one's in the room, even if it is Neumann.

 _God, I think I'm going to be sick._

My foray into dancing first began with Mr. Grey offering up some helpful advice. That soon transitioned into Bambi's wonderful tutoring, followed by Betsy's masterful instruction. Maybe I can show all that I've learned to Mr. Neumann for his honest, unbiased opinion.

 _And if he gets too handsy, all I need to do is press that button and Shaun or one of the other bodyguards will come charging in._

I sigh in relief at the thought.

I refuse to let that man touch me, no matter how much he's offering to pay Zion _or_ me.

...

CHRISTIAN

The moment Miss London graces the VIP private room with her glorious presence, I smile.

She's wearing a silver V-neck sleeveless, backless body suit bedazzled in fringe, and matching strapped heels. She looks fucking sensational.

Yes, this is well worth the mint that I dropped just to get back here to see her.  
Still, it's a fucking shame that I had to give up nearly twenty grand just to do it. But I'm comforted in knowing that I will absolutely find a way to pull this money right out of Neumann's hairy ass.

As soon as tomorrow, Stefan Neumann is going to regret the day that he was ever born.  
I am going to make his life a living hell for all the shit that he pulled tonight. And if Jay Dark's in on it, I will make certain that Zion and all of his other businesses will cease to see the light of day.

The moment the door closes behind her and she's startled when she realizes that it is in fact me sitting here waiting for her. She doubles over. "Thank God," I hear her muffled exhale.

I smirk like the asshole I am. "Were you expecting someone else, Miss London?"

She rushes to the nearby table and pours two glasses of wine before coming over here to hand me one. She sits down right beside me, this time scooting in much closer than she normally would. Her scent is divine and I love the way that the red glow in the room reflects against her silky brown hair.

This girl looks unreal.

"So what happened between you and Mr. Neumann? I was told that I was going to be dancing for him," she says with dread in her eyes, as if she's reliving the very moment when she was told.

My expression turns dark. "And you were going to come back here and dance for him after I told you yesterday that I didn't want you dancing for anyone else?"

She gapes at me. "I didn't have a choice."

"You _always_ have a choice, Miss Steele."

When her brow furrows in a scolding look, my smile returns.

"So how did you best him?" she asks. "Please don't tell me you gave in to a stupid bidding war."

I give her a single nod.

"Why would you do that?" she sighs.

"I didn't want to see Mr. Neumann parting with that much money. See, after this week, he will no longer have a job. I will use the one loophole that he didn't find when he signed our contract, and I will fire him from the very company that he started. The fucker won't know what hit him."

Miss London virtually trembles at my candor.

I decide to lighten up the mood. I reach over and play with the fringe hanging over her thigh. Not on purpose, my thumb grazes her bare skin. I feel her shiver.

 _Ticklish, Miss London?_

"Why don't you show me exactly what this outfit can do," I hum.

Her head bashfully looks down at my hand toying with her garment.

Not long afterwards, she's on the floor – front and center. In the VIP room, Miss London has nearly double the space to dance around in. As she prances seductively in my direction to the start of _The King of Pop's_ famous ditty about a dirty woman, I'm caught up in her spell. While yesterday's number was wild, hard-hitting, and staccato, _this_ dance is slow, flowy, and rhythmic; every move she does is wide, exaggerated, and deliberate from the way her ass sticks straight out before she grabs hold of one cheek, to the way she suddenly drops down on one knee while extending the other leg before transitioning into a sexy head bang.

 _Fuck me, man.  
I am doomed.  
Done for._

This girl is beyond desirable. Beyond beautiful. Beyond sexy.  
She is the ultimate temptress.

The way she stands and falls into a hard-hitting hip rock while Michael retells about how the subject of his song swears that she'll _be the freak he can taunt_.

 _Do you really mean that, Miss Steele?  
Can you be the freak that I need you to be?_

Just as I groan at the thought, she brings the dance closer. Now she stands right at my feet, seductively licking her finger tips before dropping her hands to her knees and falling into a squat and a knee spread. And just like that, she lands on her back and spreads her legs in my face like pair of fucking gardening sheers. I nearly convulse.

I can only imagine the ridiculous expression plastered on my face, currently propped in between this gorgeous woman's thighs. I'm certain that it's a sight to behold. Good thing there are no cameras back here. _I checked._

Soon, her outspread legs fall to the floor and she transitions into a series of pelvic thrusts right in my face. _Holy fuck._ It's taking everything in me not to drop down on the floor with her and take her right here and now. I'm practically hyperventilating.

She lines her limbs flush with her body and stretches out as far as she can go before rolling onto her belly. Now she's crawling back over to me like a hot little sex kitten.

Damn, if this girl could only see how sexy she looks right now, she would never doubt herself or her ability to dance ever again. And before I can take in what she's doing, she's back on her feet and rising into a downward dog position. I'm fucking flabbergasted.

 _This woman.  
Goddamn._

For most of the song, she's giving the floor her body while giving me a peep into the gates to her soul. I can't believe this is the same woman who can barely look me eye to eye when she's not dancing. But once she's in her element, she has absolutely no fear at all. _None._

And if I'm not mistaken, Miss Steele – those are in fact _fuck me_ eyes you are giving me.  
God knows how badly I very much would like to take her up on the offer right now.

The entire time, I'm enthralled in what she's throwing my way; all the while I'm completely dreading the moment when the song fades away. _I don't ever want her to stop._

When the hard-hitting climax arrives, when Slash is absolutely shredding his guitar and Michael is howling his heart out, Miss London is finally on my lap and going wild – flailing her body to the rhythm and brushing her gorgeous brown hair all over me. Soon, her hands thread into my hair, stunning me. But what stuns me even more is when she mushes my face into her cleavage.

Dammit, I want to stick my tongue out and taste her luscious breasts. But before I can, she pushes my head back into the sofa. As soon as her fingers untangle from my hair, I watch them as they drop down towards my chest.

 _Oh no.  
Not there._

I immediately catch her wrists before she touches me. She snaps suddenly out of her sensual trance and the music slowly fades away.

"Hair, okay. Forearms, _fine_. Shoulders…all right, but that's it," I quietly run down for her.

"I'm sorry," she pants. "I got carried away.

"Understandable," I smirk at her. "That was fucking amazing. _All_ of it," I praise her.

Her unexpected response startles me.

"It's strange how you're able to touch me when you're technically not supposed to," she pants with a smile on her face, staring directly at my grasp on her wrists. "Yet _you_ have all of these weird little touching rules. Why is that?" she says, looking back up at me.

The moment she doesn't see me laughing along with her, the smile on her face quickly wipes away.

 _Miss Steele, you **really** don't want to know why I'm so fucked up and to what lengths that fuckedupness has taken me. _

….

Friday night after work, I arrive home and then head directly towards my study without stopping.

"Taylor, ensure that I'm not interrupted," I order as his footsteps trail mine. I stop at the entrance of my study, spin around, and then hand him my jacket.

"Sir," he concurs with a nod before I shut and lock the door in his face.

I can't put into words everything I've been feeling since leaving Portland last night. Yesterday's dance added yet another complex layer to this whole fucking situation.

 _I nearly kissed her._

The moment her expression fell, I was itching to make it all better.  
But I couldn't do it.  
I wasn't _supposed_ to do it…so I didn't.

As long as I'm under contract, I am monogamous…for _the better_. _The worse_ hasn't really happened yet. If it does, either my submissive or me are free to go our separate ways.

Maybe that's why I feel out of sorts. What if it's just me feeling disconnected from the situation and nothing that Madison has done or has failed to do?

Normally I'm knee deep in work when I'm shut in here. This time around, I've locked myself away in an attempt to work out why I feel so connected to a girl that I only just met a week ago today.

 _Miss Anastasia Steele._

 _It's just a physical attraction, Grey.  
That's all it is._

And suddenly another thought creeps in.

 _If it's just a physical attraction, then why do I feel like shit?_

 _Perhaps if I'm open an honest with Madison, I wouldn't feel this miserable_ – I resolve.

An hour later, I surface from my study and follow the delicious combination of smells into the kitchen where I find Madison wearing nothing but an apron. The sight of her in this way normally excites me after a long week without sex – well _two_ weeks now. But I'm certainly not in the mood to do any sort of playing tonight. I skipped an entire weekend with her to remain in Portland, and then I made the journey _back_ to Portland two weekdays in a row just to watch Miss London dance. Now I'm back home with my submissive.

I feel… _dirty_.

"Hello, Master," she says, looking down to the floor – just as she's been commanded to do.

 _In contrast, Miss Steele would probably look me directly in the face after I told her not to do so. That's just how defiant she is._ I smirk at the thought.

"Good evening, Madison."

"Sir, while you were working, I prepared your favorite…ribeye rare and roasted potatoes. I also have an apple pie for you in the oven."

 _Perhaps eating a home cooked meal will take the edge off._

I take my seat at the breakfast bar and Madison serves me.

….

ANA

It feels odd coming here and working the floor after what Mr. Dark and L-Mo tried to pull yesterday.

I can't believe them…insisting that I dance for Mr. Neumann after I didn't want to dance in the first fucking place. L-Mo promised me that I wouldn't have to dance for anyone _but_ Mr. Grey.

I'm glad things happened the way it did. Mr. Grey ended up in that VIP room instead of Neumann, and now my eyes are wide open concerning the leadership here. Management doesn't give a fuck about me; all they care about is the money. Now I know that I need to try and pull together as much cash as I can before something like this happens again. I'll quit before they make me dance for anyone other than Mr. Grey.

Speaking of the man, I saw a very scary and intimidating side of him when he was talking about exerting his revenge on Mr. Neumann by the end of the week. It made me fearful that this same man has the same power to destroy me as well if he doesn't get exactly what he wants. But all of that was soon forgotten the moment I stared into his sexy gray eyes. I was enraptured.

I sigh at the thought.

 _I could've sworn that we nearly kissed._

I sigh again.

"Earth to London," Elaine laughs near the back of the house.

I blink and look at her.

"You are going to own the place if Mr. Grey keeps outbidding everyone here," she beams.

I shake my head and huff, "That man is ridiculous…throwing his money away like that."

"For _you_ ," she grins. "Let him. He has much more of it to spare."

 _Why would he do that for me?_

"Hey chica," Becky calls out as she approaches. "Hot Chocolate's here and he requested you as his server."

I sigh.

"Two sexy rich men fighting for your affection," Elaine gasps in exaggeration, clutching her imaginary pearls. "We should only be so lucky."

"Seriously," Becky smirks. "London, I'll handle table twenty-seven. You go and take care of the hot Brit."

I roll my eyes and head out to the floor where I see Dawson seated alone at table thirty-five.

"There's my favorite bookworm," he pipes with a heart-stopping grin.

 _Oh boy._ I try to hold back from blushing.

"Well hello, Dawson," I smile shyly."

"London, gal…just like back home," he flirts. "Have you ever been to my hometown?"

I shake my head. "I'd love to go someday."

"Maybe if I'm lucky, you'll let me take you one of these days. My mum makes the best shepherd's pie."

"Is it _smashing_?" I tease.

"Quite," he beams in reply.

"I make a decent shepherd's pie myself, but I'm certain that it's not as good as your mom's authentic recipe."

"I don't know," he slurs with his head tilted up and his hand stroking your chin. "I'll have to judge it for myself. That would mean you baking me a pie. Your place, or mine?"

I laugh. "I'm not sure if I can arrange that, but can I suggest that you try the chef's instead? I heard that his is to die for."

Dawson gapes at me. "I didn't see shepherd's pie on the menu."

"Because it's not," I beam. "We have a world-renowned chef in our midst tonight, and shepherd's pie so happens to be his specialty. He's actually from the UK as well. You'd know his name if I told you."

"Who is it?"

"Now _that_ , I can't say," I tease. "It's against house rules."

"You're such a tease, girl," he says in the silkiest tone. Coupled with his amazing accent, I almost forget how to breathe.

"I'm not trying to tease you, I'm just trying to get you to order the shepherd's pie. If I'm wrong about how good it is – I'll buy."

 _Oh boy…me and my big mouth.  
_ Sometimes my mouth gets going and I don't know when to stop it.

"You're on," he smiles. "The shepherd's pie, please."

I get a sudden thought and my eyes narrow inquisitively. He watches intently.

"What drink goes well with that?" I ponder out loud.

"It depends," he says. "A stout, maybe?"

I take in the suggestion. "Yeah…that'll work." I start to take off.

"Hey!" he calls me back. I quickly turn and face him. "I didn't finish my order," he laughs.

"Yeah you did," I tease. "I'll be back with your stout." As I turn back again and head towards the bar to place Dawson's order in the computer and fetch his drink, I hear my name being called.

 _Wait a second.  
_ My stomach drops. I just heard my _actual_ name, _not_ London.

"Ana? Is that you?"

I spin around and I nearly piss myself once my eyes land on the source.

"Mr. _Kavanagh_?" I gasp.

Oh my god – it's Kate's father.

 _Holy hell._

….

 ** _A/N – Faithful readers, thank you so much for the overwhelming support this past week. I am beyond appreciative how you've received both me and this story. With that said, I hope that you continue to trust my instinct as I take us through this interesting journey._**

 ** _I will warn you that the next chapter will contain a scene (or evidence of its occurrence) that many of my A &C loyalists will probably dislike, but is very vital to where this story is headed. For one, this incident will demonstrate how much Christian can't control his feelings no matter how hard he tries. The aftermath will also trigger one action that will lead to two other important events that are pivotal to the story. _**

**_Like many of you, I am Team A &C to the ends of the earth, but we have to remember that one of our leads is a sexually active dominant. I warned my readers on my Facebook page before posting the second chapter that I wanted to get back to Christian's roots. I believe that this is the Christian Grey we would've met in 2010 if he were already in the middle of a contract before meeting the love of his life. So with that said, you've all been warned. I hope that this doesn't discourage you from sticking around because I believe that you will be pleased with at least two out of the three things that follow this controversial event. One of them may or may not lead to the dissolution of a certain arrangement. :D_**

 ** _Also in chapter 7 – London is stunned during an employee meeting, Kate confronts her best friend, and things get real hot and heavy between London and her favorite client in the VIP room. Because of the last part, the chapter is tentatively titled 'Titillation'. :P_**

 ** _Finally, our girl discovers a friend's shocking secret. There's so much in store, I just hope that I can fit it all into one chapter, haha!_**

 ** _Thank you so much for reading! – ST2_**

 ** _PS: The horizontal lines aren't working in the editor today. Boooo! :(_**


	7. Chapter 7 - Titillation

**Chapter 7** **–** **Titillation**

ANA

The shock of my life nearly has my heart pounding right out of my chest. Out of all of the places in this entire world, why did I have to run into my best friend's father at Zion; father to the very one who I've been trying my damnedest to hide my secret life from.

 _God – this is dreadful.  
This surpasses embarrassing._

Mr. Kavanagh sits there in his black suit, gaping at me. His business companion, I presume, who is likewise wearing a dark suit and dons salt and pepper hair, is wondering with just his eyes why Mr. Kavanagh looks as if he's just seen a ghost.

 _This is bad.  
Sooo bad._

In a split second, a multitude of thoughts parse my mind. But the thought that twists my gut more than any other is the notion of Mr. Kavanagh no longer seeing me as the sweet, innocent bookworm-y best friend of his youngest child. I'm surely forever tainted in his sight.

 _Dammit, I know he's going to tell Kate._

"Ana, what are you doing here?" Mr. Kavanagh asks with an expression that remains to be more shock than concern.

 _I could ask you the very same thing, Mr. Kavanagh._

I can only imagine the additional level of extreme awkwardness that would've transpired if I'd walked over this way while one of the talent were performing a teasing dance number just for him and his guest at this table.

Oh no, _god_ no…I can't even stomach myself to even think about Mr. Kavanagh receiving a lap dance. What would Mrs. Kavanagh think if she knew what her husband was doing?

Hell, forget Mrs. Kavanagh.  
His daughter would totally lose her shit!

"I _uhhh_ …" I start, unable to locate my words at the present time.

 _This eclipse is painful._

"Do you two know each other?" the other guy says, obviously witnessing the exchange of terror between Mr. Kavanagh and me.

I know that I am as good as dead. He's going to tell Kate and she is going to have my ass on a platter for not informing her about my unique job much sooner. Then she's going to go ballistic all over her dad for even setting foot in here. Not sure which confrontation will take place first, but I'm certain that both outcomes will occur in no particular order.

 _Shit. Shit. Shit._

"Yes," Mr. Kavanagh answers, disconcerted. He then returns his focus to me. "Ana, you're _just_ a waitress here, right?" he throws in the question with a _'Please, oh please let it be that and nothing more'_ reaction etched across his face.

I don't want to disappoint him, so I tell him the _technical truth_.

"Yes, I'm just a server," I exhale – my nerves wreaking havoc all over my insides. I feel like I could bolt at any moment, until I hear his very audible sigh of relief.

"Thank goodness. Does Kate know?"

"No," I say much too quickly.

He exhales again, this time much lightly. "Look, I don't want to know why you work here. I didn't see you. I'll keep your secret…you keep mine. Deal?"

 _Is he serious?_

My eyes expand and I know nothing else to do but nod in frantic appreciation.

"Sure. Absolutely," I say in petrified relief. _Thank god._ "Well, I guess I'll get going. It was _er_ … _nice_ seeing you?" I squeak.

 _Yeah…very smooth, Steele._ I practically roll my eyes at myself at my cringeworthy reaction.

Instead of waiting on his response, I dash away to place Dawson's order and fetch his stout before he realizes that I've been sidetracked. And all the while, I wonder what exactly Mr. Kavanagh has to hide.

The next ten minutes go by before I even look over at Mr. Kavanagh's table again and neither he nor his companion are still sitting there. They obviously didn't stay much longer after Mr. Kavanagh made the alarming discovery that I worked here.

….

Before I set off for home at the end of my shift, I briefly stop by the back of the house to chat with Becky.

"Hey, so I happened to bump into someone that I know at one of the tables."

Her interest is piqued. "Who was it?"

"Eamon Kavanagh?"

Becky gasps and then beams. "You know Eamie?"

" _Eamie_?" I say with a reaction of semi-disgust.

"He's a regular here," she says, upbeat. "He hasn't been around for about a month or so. He's one of Starla's favorite clients."

 _Holy shit!_

"Starla gives him private dances?" I gasp, wearing a reaction that I'm certain boarders on aghast and insane.

"Oh yeah, all the time," she says matter-of-factly. Then her eyes narrow. "How do you know him?"

I inhale and then swallow before telling her, "He's my best friend's father."

An _'oh shit'_ reaction immediately takes form on Becky's face.

"He's _Kate's_ dad?"

I nod. "Yep, and just as I was afraid that he'd tell his daughter that he saw me working here, he was equally, if not _more_ terrified that I'd tell his daughter on _him_."

After a few beats, Becky lets out a chuckle. "Oh well, it happens to all of us eventually. We're bound to run into someone here that we either know or know about. You have no clue who the freaks are until they show up here."

 _What?!_ A feeling of offence suddenly overtakes me.

" _Freaks_? But the girls here don't get nude. There are plenty of places in Portland where the girls dance and get all the way naked. Zion is _extremely_ classy in comparison," I say somewhat haughtily. If Zion and the people who work here weren't so elegant and alluring, I don't think I would've remained here past the week-long trial period.

"I mean, _yes_ ," she starts reluctantly, "but usually the men that come here have something else in their freak banks."

 _Freak banks?_ – I say to myself as I blink my eyes in a stupor.  
 _Is Becky just making shit up?_

She continues. "Zion is the tamer alternative for filthy rich dudes, _sure_. However, every so often, certain frequent clients have something else more taboo on standby. Some even have fetishes that carry over to Zion."

I tilt my head in alarm. "Like what?"

"Back when I danced, I can't tell you how many clients begged…yes, _begged_ me in Private Row to take off my stilettos so they could suck on each of my toes."

"Oh my god," I gasp, frowning severely.

"A lot of Bambi's clients prefer her because she has this implied dominatrix persona about her. Quite a few of her clients are into S&M."

 _Holy hell.  
_ I'm stunned. My gaping mouth proves as much.

"Bam thought about being a dominatrix on the side, but she'd rather be dancing instead of going down that deep rabbit hole," Becky says. "I'm certain she'd get paid twice…even three times as much than she even makes now if she made the leap into the kink scene."

" _Kink_?" I squeak.

"Yes girl. Fetishes. Some people are into being spanked, while others are into doing the spanking. There's a wide world out there full of different fetishes and plenty of outlets out there to do them in."

My mind is completely blown. I mean…I might've heard about this sort of thing from time to time during someone's drunk-speak at a party. I even remember seeing some after-dark cable TV program that journeyed into the underground sex scene, but I assumed that it was only a small niche segment of weirdness taking place somewhere like Amsterdam or Brazil.

I never imagined an underground sex brigade in my own backyard.

 _Geez._

"Have you ever gone to any of these places?" I ask.

"Oh, _hell no_ ," Becky denies swiftly. "But I do hear about things. _Lots_ of things."

Before my curiosity can get the better of me, Becky has to take off and deliver the tray that one of the line cooks just put out. She quickly gives me a hug.

"I'll catch _you_ …"

"Sunday," I finish for her. "I'm off tomorrow."

"Enjoy. Hopefully your favorite client doesn't make you work again on your day off," she teases.

A sinking feeling spreads across my belly.

"I really don't see that happening this time," I reply with a bittersweet smile.

He does have a _complicated girlfriend_ , after all.

* * *

CHRISTIAN

 _What in the fuck have I done?_

I erratically pace my study wearing nothing but a pair of tattered jeans.

Last night, I managed to avoid the playroom with Madison. I didn't even touch her. I _couldn't_. My mind felt tainted because all I could think about was Thursday night, Miss London, and her beautiful seductive dance.

It was as if she was calling out to me in her movement.  
I took her dance as a plea…

 _Forget about the girl back home and come spend the night with me._

Holy fuck.

I've never been one who could be easily taken by a particular pair of tantalizing legs attached to a certain striking young woman. I have always been content with whomever my submissive was at any given time. I thought it was nearly impossible to tempt me.

But the barrier has finally broken. Anastasia Steele has done something to me that I never thought could ever be done. She has taken up residence in my mind, which is a hard feat within itself. The fact that I am losing control frustrates me to no end.

So, this morning, I decided that I was finally going to put this girl in Vancouver- _slash_ -Portland behind me and honor my original agreement with Madison. And even though I didn't come clean to her like I said I would, I had my plan of rectification all sorted out. Sometime after lunch, Madison met me in the playroom in her standard kneeling position with hands placed flat on her thighs and her eyes closed in anticipation for my arrival.

When I get there in the same pair of jeans that I'm wearing now, I zoom in on the single braid hanging down the center of her naked back and call out her name.

 _"_ _Madison."_

 _"_ _Master?" she said, head still tilted down towards the floor._

For the first time ever, hearing someone call me _'Master'_ causes a wave of nausea in my stomach.

 _"_ _Stop calling me that," I told her.  
"From here on out, you are to refer to me as 'Mr. Grey'. Do you understand?"_

 _"_ _Yes Mas…I mean Mr. Grey," she stammered._

And as if that wasn't bad enough, after I intricately tethered her wrists with rope to the table and then cane her several times for spilling her guts to Elena about me skipping out on last weekend, I make an additional demand that surpasses a sane mind.

 _"_ _When I fuck you, you will answer to London. Is that clear?"_

I searched the side of her face for a reaction and was able to pick up on her puzzlement, but she complies anyway like the good submissive that she is.

 _"_ _Yes, Mr. Grey."_

No matter how hard and fast I thrusted…no matter how tightly I closed my eyes and willed myself to envision fucking this other woman, meditating on the way that she captivates me with her seductive dance in order to even get myself in the mood in that moment, it doesn't work.

 _It's a disaster._

Frustrated, I pulled out of Madison, cut the rope, and then rushed out of my playroom in storm. Which is why I'm here in my study, practically pulling my hair out as my hands endlessly ravage it.

 _Fuck!  
How can I be so stupid!_

I feel the lowest of the low, and it was beyond unfair to my submissive to do that to her.

I _must_ end this.

….

I didn't get a wink of sleep last night.

After my massive freak-out in the study, I finally get myself together to at least show myself to Madison once more and administer aftercare to her in her bedroom. All the while as I rub cream on all of her pink spots, I don't explain myself.

 _I never explain myself, so why begin now?_

After showering, I tried my hardest to quiet my rambling thoughts, but it was a lost cause. I've never been this fucking conflicted in all of my life. I have always prided myself in maintaining a strong sense of self control. If I were still Elena's submissive right now, she'd beat the shit out of me for being so goddamned weak.

Last night was beyond fucked up. It took that dreadful moment for me to realize that no matter how hard I try to mask the way I feel, I don't see an end to this shame until I address things head on.

 _"_ _Cut away the dying branch, son."_

All night, I meditated on the wise words Grandpa Trevelyan would often utter back when I was a kid visiting his apple orchard. His rule of thumb was that if there was anything on the tree dying, you should trim that bit off.

Whenever I watch Anastasia Steele dance, I feel the absolute opposite of death. There's a freedom – an enormous burden lifted off of my chest when I witness her get lost in the moment. She teleports me with her with every twirl, every slide, and every gyration of her seductive hips. It's total ecstasy.

It's barely five in the morning on a Sunday, so the streets of downtown Seattle are barren when I decide to take off for a run. I'm pounding the pavement harder than I can remember, dreading the moment when Madison wakes and I have to explain to her that our arrangement no longer works for me.

...

Madison is sitting on the sofa in jeans and a spring-inspired blouse when I finally face her in the great room. Right away, she proceeds to rise but I quickly halt her.

"No. Please…stay seated."

She complies but continues to look down.

"Look at me," I tell her in a sullen tone of voice. She hesitates at first, but then she obliges. You'd have to be blind not to see her undeniable trepidation. It's beyond sobering to witness.

I sit right beside her on the sofa and take her hand. The action causes her to tremble. I'm never this affectionate with her, unless it's after I've just beaten her in a scene. I reach within for my inner strength. When I normally have to let a sub go, it's because of something that _they've_ done.

This experience is brand new for me and it's shitty.

"Madison, I'd like to thank you for these past seven months. You have been a stellar submissive. However, I regretfully have to end our contract effective today. I'll certainly give you the highest recommendation within the community."

Then she does something that I've never seen her do in the seven months that I've known her. She breaks character and begins to panic. A tear falls from her eye and streams down her cheek.

Fuck.

"Was it me? Did I do anything wrong?" she says frantically.

Aww, hell. I don't deal very well with female emotions and all of this crying shit. This is why I chose to deal with more experienced submissives who can more than handle the paces that I desire to put them through.

I wished I could just put back on my _dom hat_ and tell her to stop fucking crying or I'll spank her, but even I know that's not the way that this situation should be handled.

 _Hell, why am I so fixated on a college student that lives in another city?  
This is beyond fucked up. _

Madison is more than the ideal sub, so it's absolutely insane that it has to end this way – but it's only fair for her that we end this right here and now. I pride myself with being monogamous, and right now I can't be that because my mind is enamored with someone else.

"No Madison, it's not you."

"Is it this _London_ person? Is that why you wanted to call me by her name last night?"

I sigh, and lower my head before massaging my temples. _This is so frustrating._

Then through the tears, she utters, "I can be her if you want me to be. Tell me about her. What is she like? What do you like about her?"

Beyond my control, my blood instantly starts to boil.

"What the fuck?!" I bark out at her, yanking my hand out of hers. She blanches. "Are you being serious right now?!"

"Yes," she says, practically begging. "I don't want to leave. I love doing this with you. I don't want another dom."

I narrow my eyes at her. "We had a ten-month contract which ends in just under three months," I remind her. "What did you think would happen after that?"

Madison takes in a staggered breath before saying, "I was hoping that you would've wanted the same thing and kept me on indefinitely."

 _Indefinitely?_ – I think to myself while practically glaring at her.

"I know you don't do the relationship thing. I _know_ that," she says passionately through the tears, "but I am willing to keep on doing this for as long as possible. I'm completely fine with the way things are. Why mess up a good thing, right?"

Except I know that she doesn't actually believe that. I've seen this very same expression on Leila's face before she pleaded for _more_.

 _What in the fuck is_ _ **more**_ _, anyway?_

Maybe it's a good thing that Miss Steele danced along my path when she did. I can now put a stop to this situation before Madison thinks that she has the right to request a traditional relationship out of me. I shudder at the thought.

"Except, it's _not_ a good thing," I say rather harshly. "I mean it _was_ , but who's to say that you wouldn't want something else down the line? I really don't think it's feasible for our arrangement to continue."

I stand to my feet and extend a hand out to Madison who looks up at me in sheer devastation. I maintain face. Refusing to take my hand, she starts to sob into her hands for a beat before rising to run towards and then up the stairs, assumedly to her room.

 _So, she's playing hardball._

I tug my Blackberry from my jeans pocket and ring Taylor.

"Sir."

"See to it that Madison is escorted out of the penthouse. Her contract has ended effective immediately. Get the garage entry code changed and make sure that she has everything that she procured over her time here."

"Yes Sir. I'll take her home now and drop off her Audi and things later today."

"Very good."

I know this treatment is as cold as ice, but if this is the way Madison wishes to behave, then so be it.

* * *

ANA

When I arrive at work Sunday afternoon, I'm surprised to be intercepted in the employee-only hallway by L-Mo on my way to the servers' boudoir to change into uniform.

"London, sweetie," she gleams. "You have a good Saturday off?"

I hesitate, unsure of her angle. "Yeah…it was nice, thank you" I eventually say.

"Good. Well just so you know, we're pretty much solid on the floor tonight."

I gape at her.

 _Oh no, I've heard this before.  
Is she sending me home?  
Am I being laid off._

"Oh my gosh," she says in a huff, waving off the potential misunderstanding. "You absolutely can work if you want, but I'm giving you the option if you so desire to learn a new dance with Betsy instead."

My eyes widen in response. "Really?"

She nods, smiling, "Yes, really. If you're worried about tips, I can cover what you would've made otherwise working the floor."

"It's not a problem," I tell her in a hurry. "I love dancing with Betsy. It's truly a privilege."

"Alright," L-Mo grins, well pleased. "Why don't you give her a call. I'm sure she'll have no qualms placing Josh on daddy duty so she can escape the boys and dance with you for a few hours."

I idly wonder why L-Mo is so eager to put me in the dance studio instead of out on the floor. If I weren't so excited at the potential to spend time with Betsy, I'd press the issue. I still haven't forgotten how L-Mo was so willing to put me in the room with creepy Mr. Neumann, even though she promised me that I wouldn't have to dance for anyone else.

After that whole ordeal, I swore to myself that I'd quit before making another compromise for these people. Although I'll admit that it's much easier to say that now after Mr. Grey has placed a crater-sized dent in my tuition and fees.

Speaking of, I'd be surprised if I ever saw him again after the stunt that Mr. Dark and L-Mo pulled when pitting him against Neumann and making him shell out an unreal amount of money just for thirty minutes in the VIP room with me. Oh, and let's not forget when he grabbed my wrists and told me where exactly I could and could _not_ touch him.

Goodness, that man is beyond frustrating.

….

An hour later, Betsy and I are sweating it out in the studio as we run through the bridge of a brand-new routine that just might be even sexier than the last one. It's difficult to fathom how a dance can even supersede in hotness over _Dirty Diana_ but leave it to a dance featuring a song by _The Purple Prince_ to give _The King of Pop_ a run for his money.

The tempo of the track is slowed way down according to Betsy, and the dance features lots of fluid but jagged movements, some crotch grabbing, lots of thrusting, and a ton of hard-hitting connections. I almost feel like a marionette on a string while doing it. It's surreal.

As Betsy and I stir our hips in syncopation, I am hypnotized by the 80s drumbeat, keyboard, and Prince's funky synthesized voice.

Then I hear it.

Oh my god, what did they just sing in the chorus?

 _We can_ _ **what**_ _til' cherry's gone?_

I feel my cheeks get heated.

 _No – I certainly didn't hear that correctly. No way.  
I'd be too embarrassed to ever dance this number to this song for Mr. Grey._

Then I remember – this dance is for _me_ , not _him_.

….

I arrive home three hours before I normally would on a work day, and I am stunned when I find Kate present on an early Sunday evening. And hell, her father just so happens to be here along with her mother.

 _Fuck, this is uncomfortable._

"Ana? You're home early," Kate says in surprise.

" _Oh_ , I didn't know…"

"My goodness…Ana!" Mrs. Kavanagh interrupts, springing up to deliver a snug embrace. I look over her shoulder and catch Mr. Kavanagh's head hanging low. A feeling of uneasiness flutters in my stomach.

"Ana," Mr. Kavanagh says when his wife releases me. "Good to see you. How's school coming along?"

"Very well, thank you."

"Are you just getting off from work? Would you like to join us for dinner?" Mrs. Kavanagh offers.

"Oh yes," Kate says too eagerly. "You should definitely join us. I miss you." She turns to her folks who are now reseated side by side. "We live together, and we hardly ever see each other. She sometimes leaves work at the hardware store and goes right back to campus and studies her butt off, mostly pulling all-nighters."

"Wow," Mrs. Kavanagh sighs. "Make sure you don't burn yourself out, okay?"

I laugh nervously before catching Mr. Kavanagh's head fall once more.

"Oh, I won't."

"You need to shower before we go?" Kate says to me.

I shake my head. "Why don't you guys go ahead. I'm sorry, but I have a ton of work to do," I say, seemingly with regret.

Mrs. Kavanagh stills for a beat before a spark ignites her. "Hey, why don't we cook here instead?"

 _Oh god, no._ I'd rather the three of them left me alone. It's so uncomfortable being in the presence of Kate's father after knowing how much he enjoys private dances from Starla, all without his wife's knowledge.

"Mom, I want to _eat_ , not cook," Kate says, virtually pouting.

"Sweetie, you know I wouldn't let you set foot near a stove. You'll burn the entire building down."

Mr. Kavanagh and I snort in unison, then we look at one another before we burst out laughing. Kate's not impressed.

"Alright, alright. I get it. I'm a terrible cook."

"Kate, you could be a better cook if you applied yourself," her mother coos.

"Cooking isn't for everyone. You're terrific at everything else, sweetheart," Mr. Kavanagh says in an ill attempt to justify his daughter's culinary ineptitude. I make a strong effort to conceal my laughter. It's futile.

"Ha – ha – ha," Kate scowls, rolling her eyes at me. I laugh even more.

….

Thank goodness Mrs. Kavanagh decided to cook the salmon steaks in the fridge. I was dreading cooking them myself. She prepared them with a delicious lemon garlic butter sauce that I made certain to swipe the recipe for.

At dinner, the conversation was all about Kate because she often makes certain of that. I love her, but this trait of hers generally bugs the shit out of me. However, in this case, I relished in the fact that the attention was not on me because if either Mr. Kavanagh or myself let it slip that I work at Zion, I'm atrocious when it comes to building on top of a lie.

 _I'll absolutely crumble like Rome, I know I would._

After dinner, Kate and her mother briefly step away to the living room in order to browse a few outfits online that Kate was considering, leaving Mr. Kavanagh and I alone in the kitchen, rinsing out dishes and loading up the dishwasher.

"So," he hums.

" _So_ ," I echo back, equally as covert.

"I'm sure you asked around about me," he says with guilt etching his face.

I nod.

"You know about Starla."

I nod again.

"Mrs. K also knows about Starla."

I gape at him.

He nods slowly. "Mrs. K _knows_ Starla. The two of them do lunch together from time to time."

My head is about to explode.

 _Mrs. Kavanagh knows?!  
And she even has tea with Starla?!_

"Without getting too detailed, let's just say that she helps to put a…um… _certain spark_ back into the situation. Needless to say, Mrs. K is definitely a fan of Starla," he says with a sly smirk.

 _Ugh! Brain bleach!  
I don't even want to know. _

This is way too much information.

"But your best friend over there would never understand why her mother and I are perfectly fine with me patronizing a place like Zion."

"Just like she wouldn't understand why I would need to work there," I add.

"I get it. You have to do what you have to do. You're just a server. There's no harm in that. But like you, I know my daughter," he murmurs. "She will make a mountain out of a molehill."

"Exactly," I emphatically agree.

"So, you couldn't have been working there for long," he deduces.

"No – I've been there for a little less than two weeks," I reveal.

He nods, "That sounds about right. Look, since I'm aware that you're working there, if you ever need anything, you let me know. You can even put me down as an emergency contact if you'd like…assuming that no one else knows of your job there."

"Thank you," I smile in appreciation. "I'll do that."

Never could I have imagined the idea of my best friend's father and me keeping each other's dirty secrets.

* * *

CHRISTIAN

Since last night, I've been avoiding texts and phone calls from Elena.

 _I don't want to talk to her right now._

I'm know what she's after. She's more than likely the first person that Madison contacted after I ended our contract yesterday.

 _I can't avoid her forever._

I'm set to face Elena tomorrow at our dinner that I rescheduled over a week ago. _Shit_ – I don't think that's going to work for me, either. I'm in no mood right now to explain myself. After six years of being apart, Elena has this wild notion that she still has a say in my life. Hell, my own mother isn't as intrusive as her.

I make a mental note to have Andrea cancel tomorrow's dinner. But before I ping her to do that, I have to make two other calls: One to Taylor and one to Jay Dark.

I need to pay someone a visit tonight.

 _It's been three long days and I really miss her._

* * *

ANA

I stop by the apartment after class to drop off my backpack and grab some extra sweats in case I find myself in the studio before or after my shift tonight. But as soon as I shut the door behind me and march forward, Kate come charging towards me. She looks confrontational. I wince as she meets me in the center of the living room.

 _Well hello to you too, Kate._

"Did you know that Clayton's was filing for bankruptcy?" she spouts out.

Holy hell.  
The time has finally come.

"Yes," I say quietly. "That's why I no longer work there."

"What?!" she gapes at me. "Why didn't you say anything?"

 _Because maybe it's not your concern, Kate?  
Or perhaps I was nervous that you'd freak out like you're doing right now?_

"I was embarrassed," I reason with her. "I didn't want to bother you about it."

"Ana, what the hell are you talking about?" she says, flustered. "What's so embarrassing that you wouldn't want to tell me about it?"

I shrug my shoulders like a speechless adolescent.

"What in the hell have you been doing after class, then?" she spits out.

 _Sigh – here goes nothing._

"I started babysitting a customer's four kids at night."

"What?" she gapes. "What customer? At Clayton's?"

"Yes," I reply. "I didn't want to tell you."

Kate's now scowling at me. "I don't understand why you wouldn't want to tell _me_ , your best friend about this. I feel really offended right now."

 _You? Offended?  
Pff. _

Nothing I say to her will make her less pissed at me. Then I suddenly get a thought.

 _Play the pity card, Steele.  
And let it be all about her._

"Sometimes I feel like I'm such a burden to you," I say, sulking.

"Ana," she gasps, and she immediately pulls me into her arms and hugs me tight. "You're never a burden. I just hate that you felt the need to lie to me."

I pull always from her. "I didn't lie. I told you I had to go to work. I just never said _where_."

Her expression hardens. "You lied by omission. I must be a really shitty friend if you don't feel comfortable telling me the truth."

And just like that, she makes me feel like crap all over again. However, I don't lose sight.

 _I need to make it all about her if I ever want to escape this confrontation alive._

"No, you aren't a shitty friend… _I_ am. Me and my low self-esteem," I say, scoffing at myself.

 _Reel it in, Steele.  
Don't overdo it. _

"Which I never understood," she interjects. "You are a total babe, Ana. You're _beautiful_. You're smart as hell. You're the complete package. Why isn't some hot guy out there trying to rip your panties off? It just boggles my mind."

Well, there's one hot guy in particular that I wouldn't mind ripping my panties off, but he already has a girlfriend.

 _Dammit._

"I've just been focused on school and work," I say in my defense.

"You can wedge in sex between school and work. I do it all the time," she says matter-of-factly.

Oh, Kate.

"So, who's this lady and her kids?"

 _Stick to the story that we've practiced over and over again for this very moment, Ana._

I sigh. "Her name is Betsy. She has four boys, ages two to eight."

"Holy shit. No wonder you're worn out when you get home at night. Does she and her husband work nights or something?"

"Her husband has a law firm, and she helps him out in the office whenever he has a big case. Betsy is amazing," I rave. "You'd love her."

"That's really cool," she says, finally easing up. "I never thought of you as a babysitter."

"Excuse me," I say, mock affronted. "I'd have you know that I was the president of my babysitter's club in Montesano."

"Oh yeah…I remember," she chuckles.

I sigh internally in relief.

 _The Betsy-cover worked._

….

The moment I arrive in the employee's only area at work, I'm intercepted by Shaun, one of the guards.

"London, this way," he says, ushering me towards a conference room that I've never even been in before. Just then, I hear some chattering. I look inside and see a handful of girls and guys from all sorts of working areas – kitchen, floor, talent, bar… I don't immediately spot any of my friends such as Becky, Elaine, Bambi, or Starla.

"What's going on?" I say, looking up, _way up_ at Shaun.

"Quick staff meeting," he says succinctly.

Shit, I wonder why one's being called in the first place.

"London – come sit with me!" I hear someone call out. When I scan the room, I see Sweetness raising her hand and waving me over. I go in and take a seat right next to her.

"What's this all about?" I whisper.

"Just the standard old bullshit," she grumbles.

Just then, L-Mo breezes in and Shaun shuts the door behind her. The room immediately quiets.

"Hello everyone. You're the second group I've met with today," she prefaces. "I have two more groups to meet with after this one. As you all know when you signed on to work at Zion, we required everyone that works the floor to complete mandatory STD testing at the free clinic over on Alberta Street. Please take time during these next two weeks to get that done. Management also suggests that if you're not already on birth control, that you start. Unfortunately, pregnant ladies don't fare well in this business."

My eyes nearly bulge out of their sockets. I turn my head to look over at Sweetness.

"Wait a second, that's just for the dancers, right?" I murmur, mortified. Even Becky admitted once that some of the dancers secretly have sex behind closed doors with their clients.

" _Anyone_ who interacts with the clients, not just dancers," Sweetness carefully whispers. "That includes me _and_ you."

I gape at her.

 _What the hell's going on here?  
What kind of business are they running?_

After the meeting is dispersed, L-Mo pulls me aside.

"I noticed that you had a few concerns," she starts. But before I can answer for myself, she adds, "Don't be alarmed. It's just that Mr. Dark wants all of our girls to be safe. STD testing is only just a small checkmark in a long list of administrative paperwork. It's to cover our asses in case of a liability situation."

 _Well what about the comment concerning birth control?_

"Why the free clinic?" I ask instead. "Why not our normal doctor?"

"We have a system in place between us and the clinic on Alberta Street. And it's _free_."

I nod, but still…I don't feel so confident in visiting some random free clinic when I have a regular doctor I see back in Montesano.

But after my quick chat with L-Mo, Sweetness has some time to kill. So, she and I make the short trek over to the free clinic in order to check that item off our list prior to our shifts. In no time at all, I was able to get my vitals checked, have my blood drawn, and get ahold of some birth control pills.

I know…I'm still a virgin. There's no reason at all for me to be on birth control except to better time my periods. But I know that deep down on the inside, I'd very much would like Mr. Grey to be my reason.

Yeah, it's wishful thinking.

* * *

CHRISTIAN

In the back of the car, I feel a vast amount of disdain pouring from the front seat, and Taylor hasn't even said as much as one word to make me feel as such.

It's all in my mind, I know.

I just broke it off with my submissive yesterday and now I'm on my way to Zion to see Miss London, the very girl who I ordered my sub to emulate during a scene.

 _Smooth Grey, real smooth._

That was my ill attempt at getting everything I wanted without breaking my commitment to Madison. It was a shitty idea. I don't know what I was thinking when I did that. I actually made things much worse. Now Madison knows that there's someone else that my mind is fixated on.

It's true, I can't get Anastasia Steele out of my head. Now I'm dead set on priming this girl. I know that she can't leave the Portland area until next year. Perhaps she and I can engage in some _interstate playtime_ to hold us both over. Maybe we can start vanilla before gradually transitioning into some of the things I like to do until she's ready for the full-blown experience in Seattle.

 _She did say that she desired to move to Seattle after graduation in May._

When I arrive at Zion, I knock twice.

Boy, this shit is getting old. _The red pill._ Give me a fucking break.

Elaine is waiting for me the moment the door opens, and she escorts me straight through a hidden corridor and into Private Row. We eventually arrive at the VIP room where she opens the door and ushers me in.

I decided that from now on, London will dance for me here. There's plenty of space for her to spread out and do all the moves she wants to do and not feel cramped in. The VIP room is also a stage fit for a goddess, which she is.

Mm, I can't wait to see what's in store tonight.  
I'm more than ready to witness her greatness.  
I've waited three long days for this.

Eventually, Miss London saunters in wearing a heart-stopping flowy purple mini dress.

"Well hello there, Miss London. That's a gorgeous little dress you're wearing," I growl like the big bad wolf ready to pounce.

 _Fuck she's sensational.  
I'm beyond thrilled to no longer be attached._

"You like?" she beams. And then she turns around.

Holy hell. Her entire back is exposed through laces, and I immediately get wild thoughts of her being tied up in Shibari, suspended high above me in my playroom.

"Oh…I _love_ ," I groan. She blushes.

"So, how was your weekend?" she asks as she makes way to the glass coffee table not too far from where I sit and pours out two glasses of wine.

"It was…life affirming," I say cryptically.

Her brow furrows. "Like how?"

I wait until she comes over holding two glasses and hands me one before taking a seat right beside me.

Looking her square in the eye, I say, "I ended my _complicated situation_."

She gapes at me. "Why?" she whispers.

"Because. It wasn't fair to her being that I'm addicted to a certain dancer."

Unexpectedly, Miss London drops her head in dismay.

"Don't be sad about it," I eventually tell her.

She looks up. "Oh…I'm not. That's why I feel so bad about it."

I smirk at her.

"Why aren't you _not upset_ about me ending things back in Seattle?"

I catch her lips twitching into a shy grin. "I don't know," she whispers.

Instead of pressing her further on the issue, I decide to quickly change the subject.

"Do you have a dance on standby? Did you think I'd be back this week?"

She shrugs her shoulders. "I figured that you wouldn't be in a hurry to come back after all of the money you had to shell out last Thursday."

I laugh through my nose. "It wasn't much."

Finally, she looks up at me with gaping eyes. "Dropping twenty grand in thirty minutes isn't _much_ to you?"

"No," I say quickly. "You want to watch me do it again?"

"Oh my god," she says petrified.

"I can," I tease her.

"That won't be necessary," she chuckles.

"Okay…you just say the word and I will."

"Why?" she says with serious eyes. "Why would you even do that?"

"I told you," I say with resolve. "I don't want you ever dancing for anyone else, _but_ me."

"You are very selfish, you know that?" Miss London volleys with a shy smile.

" _Duh_ ," I say, poking fun. And she laughs the sweetest laugh.

Not too long afterwards, she's on her feet with remote in hand, cuing up the soundtrack for her and Betsy's newest creation.

Enter Prince.  
Enter London.

 _Christ, she's unreal._

Her movement enraptures me. The _come fuck me_ eyes she's flashing in my direction, coupled with the blatant sexual lyrics of _Erotic City_ makes me grateful that I am no longer attached.

 _Yes, we would indeed fuck so pretty – if only she'd let me do her my way._

In the middle of the song, she's grinding on my lap, and my hands have a mind of their own. The second they touch her bare back, I feel a jolt of electricity run through my veins. I hum my pleasure as she tries her best to stay in character with the dance. But the longer she and I lock eyes with one another, her efforts become futile.

This girl is moving and moving in my lap, and I don't care that my dick wants to act a fool. When I hear her gasp, she can no longer deny that she feels it too. Losing all control, I take one hand place it behind her head, and pull her mouth to mine.

Finally, we kiss.

It's something between us that over time and six dances that has continued to build and build and build until the both of us explode.

 _She tastes so fucking sweet._

As we continue to kiss deep and wild, she doesn't stop moving on my lap. Eventually the music stops, but she doesn't. And I'm grinding with her – pressing my erection that's so desperate to burst through my suit pants against her.

She's moaning.  
 _I'm_ moaning.

 _Holy fuck, I want this girl right now._

* * *

ANA

I can't believe we're doing this.

Kissing.  
Touching.  
Moving… _together_.

Betsy was right; _Dirty Diana_ was strong enough to make this man leave his _complicated_ girlfriend.

Dirty Di… _Ana_?  
How apt.

 _Hmm, I'll totally be that for him right now._

And _Erotic City_ was just enough to take us both right over the edge.

Talk about _erotic_. His kiss is ravaging.  
 _Oh Betsy Davis, I owe you big time._

"I want you so bad, Anastasia," he whispers into my ear when he breaks away. And soon he's kissing me there, in my ear. My temple. My cheek. My neck.

" _Ah_ ," I gasp.

My goodness – I want him too.  
I am _so_ desperate for him.

But shit, he doesn't know that my _frontier_ is _unchartered_.

 _Bloody hell in a cell._

I'm sure he wouldn't know what to do with a virgin. His hands move behind my back and reach for the strings on my dress. My breath catches in my throat. I am shaking.

 _Tell him, Ana._

Pretty soon… _too_ soon, a quiet knock on the door ceases the moment.  
 _Session over._

I quickly stand and extend my hand. He's flustered.

"Mr. Grey, it's been a pleasure as always."

He narrows his eyes at me and fights a grin.

"Until tomorrow, Anastasia."

" _London_ ," I smile back.

….

A week has passed since the night Mr. Grey and I first kissed, and he has been back five times since then. Each time, it gets just a little bit more heated between us. Mr. Grey and I continue to push the boundaries in the VIP room, but we never cross that invisible line. That line will literally break my virginity in half.

Instead, I dance, then we kiss. Last night, which was a Sunday, he and I grinded against each other so hard that I orgasmed. _Yes_ …I finally came for the first time, and it was glorious. But it happened with my clothes on. No penetration, just the thought of him as the music washed over me and his erection pressed tightly against the spot where I needed him the most.

 _Oh god, save me from this wretched mess that I'm in._

I'm enamored by this man, body and _now_ soul. It's gotten to the point that if I come to work and I don't get word that he's coming to Zion, my entire workday is ruined.

Just as I am now addicted to dancing, I am becoming more and more addicted to him.

It's frightening.

* * *

CHRISTIAN

I can't get over making her come after her dance last night. Tonight, we almost get there again; but alas, time gets away from us once more.

 _Hell, I wish I could have her outside of that warehouse._

Pretty much every night when I'm in bed, I can't think of anything else these days but fucking her.

Her sweet, softy body in my hands.  
That wonderful round ass gyrating in my lap.  
The way she misbehaves when I tell her to go right, but she goes left instead.

Damn, this marvelous girl. I've never known another like her.

I make it home from yet another brief evening trip to Portland and I jump in the shower. As I wash, I think back to teasing her. I replay the moment in my head when I rubbed my thumb across her clit through her panties.

 _Fuck, she was so wet._

Before I know it, I'm yanking my crank as water cascades all over me.

 _Oh, Anastasia…you're mine, all mine._

I picture her dancing and transitioning into the splits, and I hover over her and down with cock in hand, slowly sliding into her.

 _Yes…oh yes…_

Mm…in my mind, she's just as sweet inside as she is outside.

 _She wants it too, I know she does._

We need to make this happen.  
We have to go the extra mile.  
I am beyond desperate for her.

Pretty soon, I'm exploding my load into my hands and I watch as it washes away and flows down the drain. Shortly, remorse sets in.

 _Why in the hell has it come to this?  
I feel like a fucking fourteen-year-old kid all over again._

….

I sigh long before finally answering the phone buzzing uncontrollably on my nightstand.

"Christian?"

I sigh again. "Yes, Elena."

"Finally," she snaps. "I've been trying to get ahold of you for a week now. I even stopped by your place last night, but you weren't home."

"I know," I say, exhausted.

"So, who is this new girl you're seeing that caused you to end your arrangement with Madison?" she says, cutting right to the chase.

If I was tired before, a brand-new jolt of energy hits me in the form of anger.

"I don't owe you an explanation, Elena," I snap.

And for the first time in many, many years, she raises her voice back at me.

"If this girl isn't in the lifestyle, you will never be happy with her."

I wasn't really all that happy with Madison, to tell you the truth.

"Alright Elena," I say, fed up. "I've heard quite enough."

"Christian…don't you dare hang up on me…"

"Goodnight, Elena," I say before hanging the phone up on her and shutting it completely off before falling asleep.

….

The very next evening, I rap on the warehouse door lightly two times.

"Yes," the voice on the other end harps.

I sigh in frustration. "It's Grey," I say in lieu of the usual ridiculous spiel.

The door immediately opens, reveling the behemoth bodyguard, who Miss Steele told me is named _Shaun_. Instead of his usual stoic expression, he's smirking as he steps aside and allows me to walk right in.

* * *

ANA

After class Wednesday, Kate knows I have the night off. As a result, I can't ignore her text when she asks me to meet her and Sasha at the bar not far from campus.

 _Ugh, Sasha House.  
I can't deal with that girl right now._

But I feel guilty for lying to my best friend, so the least I can do is show up when she asks me to be there. When I arrive, I see Sasha sitting alone at the table. I hope Kate just stepped away to use the restroom. I don't know how long I can take being in this girl's presence all by myself. It takes a lot of facial contorting to hide my disdain for this girl.

"Hey Ana," she smiles.

"Hey…where's Kate?"

"She's on her way. She's running a little late after her deadline with the school paper."

I sigh. "Okay."

"I just ordered a margarita. It's on special."

"Oh, good."

Sasha waves down the waiter and holds up two fingers. He immediately knows what she's referring to and nods before setting back towards the bartender.

"So, how's everything been going with you?" she asks. "I hardly ever see you around anymore."

"Busy. You know… _work_. School," I say tersely.

"I understand," she says soberly. "I appreciate you joining us today."

I narrow my eyes at her. "Of course. Kate texted me and asked me to be here."

 _What's her deal?_

"Kate actually called this emergency happy hour to cheer me up," she says soberly.

Immediately I back away from my defensive demeanor.

"What happened?" I ask with genuine concern.

"Just a shitty day. I got something else in the mail from my dad," she says.

"Your dad?" I ask. I've known Sasha for a couple of years and I've never heard her speak of her father…only her mother.

"Yeah," she says, disheartened. "He keeps sending me money, but I really don't deal with him anymore because he's a royal asshole with a personality of wooden plank."

Damn. That's rather harsh.

"When my mom asked me what I wanted for my 17th birthday, I told her that I wanted was to change my last name to match hers. When Dad left her, she immediately took back her name."

 _Wow._ I gape at her.

"So, you weren't born "Sasha House?" I ask.

"No, up until the age of seventeen, I was _Sasha Dark_. That certainly confused my teachers and classmates in high school. They thought I had some shotgun wedding over the weekend or something," she laughs.

I gasp.

 _Dark?  
No, it can't be. _

It's only a coincidence, right?

"My father left my mother for a ginger bitch named Lauren."

At this point, I am literally beside myself.

I then blurt out, "Lauren Moratti?" I immediately cover my mouth.

 _Dammit, Steele – shut your pie hole before you blow your cover._

Wait a minute, L-Mo and Mr. Dark are a couple?  
He left Sasha's mom to be with _her_?

Sasha's eyes open wide. "You know that skank?!"

"Yeah…I might've heard of her," I say, seemingly brushing it off.

I can't believe this.  
Oh. My. God.

"She manages his restaurants. I don't set foot in any of them. His presence is all over Portland in some way, shape or form. I can't wait to graduate in May, so I can move far away from here."

"Where will you go?" I ask.

As she's gears up to reply, the waiter drops off our drinks and we immediately sip them through the tiny black straws.

 _Oh, this is_ _ **so**_ _good._

"I'm thinking about joining you and Kate in Seattle for a bit," she eventually replies. "You know, see if I like it there before I consider venturing off to California."

"That's not a bad idea. There's tons happening in Seattle."

"I'm actually thinking about doing a quick internship over at Grey Enterprises Holdings before possibly enrolling in grad school."

I nearly choke on my margarita.

"Ana, are you okay?" she says, greatly concerned for my health.

I cough up and then clear my throat before attempting to speak.

"I'm fine. It was just the wrong pipe."

Never mind the fact that just last night, I was sucking face with and rubbing my lady parts all over that very company's CEO.

* * *

 ** _A/N: Hello faithful readers. I apologize for the one-day delay. I was traveling for work most of the week. This week, I'll be out of town Monday through Friday visiting two states in two entirely different coasts. I'm not looking forward to that. :(_**

 ** _But what I am looking forward to is progressing through this story. I hope to be able to sneak in some writing in my hotel room, but I can't guarantee that I will. There is a strong chance that we might get another Sunday morning update. Please bear with me as I get past this busy season at work._**

 ** _In the next chapter tentatively titled 'Affixation', Ana's car is on the fritz, so she has to dip into her tuition stash for a new car, which will set her back just a bit. Also, Kate will finally get to meet Betsy._**

 ** _Later, Christian tries to convince his favorite dancer to quit her job at the club and dance for only him on the outside. Oooh-la-la. :D_**

 ** _Finally, Elena sticks her nose where it doesn't belong._**

 ** _If I'm ever late updating again, which I certainly will be when work commitments interfere with my writing, I will post an announcement on my Facebook page (/storietella2). I also post teasers to tide us over until those updates go up._**

 ** _Thanks for reading! – ST2_**


	8. Chapter 8 - Affixation

**Chapter 8** **–** **Affixation**

ANA

After class, I stop by the apartment to drop off my books and pack away something to sweat in, just in case Betsy decides to pop in at Zion to show me a brand-new dance.

Lately, my phenomenal dance teacher has been turning things up in the sexy department. This week, she's homed in on more slow and sensual, but sassy and flirty dance numbers. One of my favorites so far is a slow winding routine featuring tons of hair flipping and floor acrobatics done to _Give It To Me Right_ by Melanie Fiona. Both song and dance make a definitive statement: _Either you bring it all the way, or don't even bother in the first place._

Thinking on the very premise of the song, it's difficult to avoid how fitting it is to my current dealings with Mr. Grey. Just his kisses alone are enough to inflame a tall tree soaked in water. Then his added touch sends me soaring above the flames. A series of chills course up and down my spine at the very thought of his strong hands caressing me in all the right places.

But with that, there remains so many other barriers between us. For one, I am still a bonafide virgin. He has no clue that before him, I've never even experienced an orgasm. That's because we never talk during the dance and when it's over, it's over until the next time when I'm dancing and grinding all over him again. Then his mouth and hands are exploring all that he can without taking any of my clothes off, all while my mind is willing him to go even further. He never does.

 _Maybe deep down on the inside he already knows that I've never been touched in that way._

I shudder at the thought. One of these days, I just need to brave up and tell him point blank – _I'm a virgin_. But even hearing that phrase play back in my head provokes a nauseating feeling in the pit of stomach. And what's even worse, I want to touch him… _all over_ , but he won't let me. Often, he pins my wrists behind my back as I sit on his lap and then he goes to town all over my face and neck, and on the tops of my breasts. And I want to reciprocate, but he always has me bound and at his mercy.

 _Maybe he just likes to be in charge._

I can't think of any other reason why this man has so many rules when it comes to him being touched. I thought that all guys liked to be touched. He won't even let me touch his looming erection.

 _Mm_ …Mr. Grey's long steel outline bursting forth from his suit pants, or jeans – depending on the day, is a mouthwatering sight. I've never given a BJ, but it's something that I'd try with him if he wanted me to. Hopefully my neophytishness isn't exposed. He strikes me as the type of man that knows exactly what he wants and how he wants it. And just as he was the first to introduce me to the right way on how to dance, he will more than likely have to do the same with this other unchartered endeavor of mine.

I'm confident that I could keep up with him since I was so quick to pick up on dancing. _Making love has to be similar, right?_ I imagine losing myself…letting go and allowing the moment between us to wash over me.

 _Oh my…his mouth is consuming me.  
Then he and I slowly become one._

Suddenly my eyes blink and I am back in Wanda again, setting off to Zion a hour ahead of schedule. Each time I head off to work, the same swarm of butterflies invade me. Just the mere thought of seeing Christian Grey once more sets me off, and I get giddy. I don't recall ever feeling this way about anyone… _ever_. It's both liberating and frightening all at once.

I'm riding the wave of juxtaposed emotions until I twist the key. Wanda coughs, but doesn't turn over. I sigh, knowing that this is par for the course with a car as old as her. I try starting her up again, but to no avail.

I've seen José in passing since our big fall out last month, but I've instinctively continued to keep him at arm's length in spite of his pleas that things don't have to change between us. _False._ However, as each attempt to start my car is more futile, I'm getting closer to calling him. He knows this car like no one else. Yet I try and try again. After a while, Wanda stops coughing. I turn the key and there's nothing…not even a faint buzzing sound.

 _Well, that's not good.  
Fuck._

Then I suddenly recall that I might not be seeing Betsy at all tonight anyhow. She's having one of those wacky all-girl parties going on where they sell sex toys and giggle a lot. I've never gone to one, but I've heard a lot about them from the likes of Kate and others. Betsy actually invited me to her event tonight, but I told her that I had to go work.

 _Hell, I wasted a trip and could've taken Wanda directly to work instead of risking her not starting at home and getting there late._ And as if my evening couldn't get any worse, Kate pulls up in the parking spot next to mine. I let out yet another deep sigh as my forehead drops to the steering wheel.

"Ana?" I eventually hear her faintly through the glass a few beats after her car door slams. Embarrassed, I sit up and slowly crank down the window.

"Are you trying to leave?"

"I _was_ ," I chuckle, almost deliriously. "My car won't start."

"That thing's like the _living dead_. I'm shocked that it even lasted _this_ long," she frowns bitterly.

"Hey Kavanagh, you bite your tongue," I scold.

Ignoring me, she offers – "You need a ride to Betsy's house to watch the boys? I'll take you."

 _Holy shit._

"Well, _um_ …I was going to ask if I could borrow your wheels…"

"I actually have to head back to campus and churn out this last-minute article for the paper. Otherwise, I'd totally let you borrow my car. I'll be happy to drop you off and then pick you up afterwards. Come on," she urges.

I immediately search within for the calm that I need to rationally think this through and not rat myself out.

 _Okay Ana, your bases are covered with Betsy. Just call and let her know that Kate is dropping you off. Then call Becky and ask her to pick you up from Betsy's and bring you in to work._

"Sure…let me just call Betsy and let her know that I'm running just a tad bit late," I reply.

To my dismay, Kate simply stands there besides the car and doesn't move, waiting for me to make the call. I could crank up the window, but that would look even more suspicious. I resolve to just speak to Betsy in code, that is if she even picks up in the middle of her party.

I flip open my phone and search for Betsy in my list of previously contacted numbers. It rings three times, and just before I can get even more nervous, she finally picks up.

"London, sweetie!" she excites from the other end. "Are you going to make it to my party? We're just getting started."

" _Um_ …," I hesitate. "Actually, my car won't start, and I'm supposed to be there watching the boys tonight for you and Josh," I say as slowly as possible.

"Huh?" she says, perplexed.

 _Sigh, this is painful._

"My car won't start, and Kate just offered to drop me off, so I can watch the boys," I say even slower. Even Kate's looking at me strange.

"Oh. _Ohhhh,"_ Betsy drags out in sudden realization. "Yeah, have her drop you off here and I'll ask Miranda to drop you off. She's here at the party and I believe she's heading straight there afterwards."

Oh, thank god. "Excellent. I'll see you in a few."

"Wait," she says quickly. "You have my address, right?"

"I do," I say cryptically. She must've forgotten that she'd given it to me back when she concocted this life-saving plan in the first place.

I'm beyond grateful that Mr. Grey is paying her out of the kindness of his heart as she continues to train me on how to dance. I only wish that there was something that I could do for her in return for everything that she's done for me over these past few weeks. Betsy Davis is simply an angel on earth.

….

"Why are all of these cars parked around here?" Kate asks as she slowly creeps by Betsy's house.

The party! _Shit_ , I totally forgot all about that.

"I don't know. Maybe her neighbors are having a party or something," I throw out there, hoping that the notion will stick.

"But they're all by _her_ house," my best friend says, stating the obvious.

"Hell…maybe someone's having a surprise party and they wanted the honoree to think that all of the cars were here instead of where the party _really_ is," I try again.

 _Phew, lying is so exhausting._

"I'm just going to have to drop you off here, then. I can't get any closer," Kate says, now double parked next to a car in front of Betsy's beautiful suburban home in Lake Oswego.

"Well alright then," I beam. "Thanks for the lift." I lift up my duffle bag from the floor and open up the door. I can feel Kate's eyes practically burning a hole in me as I step out of her Mercedes, but before I can close the door and head off, the front door to Betsy's house swings open. Standing there is a sweet little brunette woman in glasses wearing a multi-colored short-sleeved blouse, olive-colored capris and flip flops.

"Ana!" she calls out from the porch before she quickly jogs down the steps. It's weird to hear her calling me by my real name, but I'm so glad she does is.

"Betsy…sorry I'm late."

At that, Kate turns off her car and steps out with me.

"No problem at all. Sorry for all of the cars parked all yonder. Crazy neighbors. Who in the world throws a party on a Thursday," she chuckles as she meets the two of us face to face. "You must be Kate. I'm Betsy Davis." Kate takes her offered hand and they shake.

"It's nice to finally meet you. Ana's told me so much about you," Kate says fondly.

"Well I hope it was all good things," quips Betsy.

"Absolutely," Kate beams. "Four boys, huh?"

Betsy sighs, but lovingly. "Five, if you count the husband."

Kate and I laugh. Just before Betsy and I can break away, the door to Betsy's house opens yet again. Stepping out of the door is a petite woman in massive high heels, her platinum blond hair bundled in a flowing ponytail down her back. She dons an all-black pants suit and matching black frames over her eyes. She looks like a stern, but sexy librarian. Suddenly, she presents a cigarette out of her un-balled hand, places it between her lips, and lights it.

My eyes grow big and round as I watch Kate observe her with uncertainty. When my focus shifts on Betsy, she's still as cool as a cucumber. "My sister," she says. "She and I are headed to my husband's law firm to help them out tonight. We need to do research for a big case."

"Oh, cool" Kate says.

Damn, I so envy Betsy's nerves of steel. My life would be so much easier if I had the same.

"Well, I won't hold you up. It was nice meeting you," Kate says, shaking Betsy's hand once more.

"The pleasure's all mine. I'll make sure Ana gets a ride home tonight," Betsy assures her.

"Are you sure? I don't mind getting her."

"No worries, as soon as Josh and I get home tonight, I'll drop her off."

"Well, alright," Kate smiles before turning to me and giving me a hug. "Have fun with the boys tonight."

"Oh, _she will_ ," I hear the other implied meaning behind Betsy's tone.

I want to laugh, but I smile very hard instead. _Betsy knows all about my shenanigans with Mr. Grey in the VIP room._ I blush at the thought.

As Kate climbs back into her car and drives off, Betsy and I approach her steps and the woman smoking on them.

"Ana…this is my longtime mentor and very dear friend, Ms. Rita Joy Lords," Betsy lovingly introduces.

 _Mentor?_

The woman places her piping stick at her side and extends her other hand out to me. She looks even more striking up-close. Commanding, even.

"Joy," she says as I take her offered hand.

"Nice to meet you," I say. "Do you dance, too?"

Joy lets out a throaty laugh. "Not really."

"Joy is the reason for my party tonight," Betsy interjects. "She owns _Seduction and Stamina_ , a prominent new brand in the area of sexual education. Joy is a licensed sexual behavioral health professional. She has saved many lives."

When I gape at the two of them, Betsy laughs while Joy stands there cracking her first smile.

"So, Ana – are you here to join in on the party? We're just getting started."

"Uh… _no_ , I'm afraid not. I'm actually going to need to get a ride in to work," I say too fast.

"You don't have to be there right away, do you? Can you sit in for at least thirty minutes?" Betsy implores.

 _I don't have time for this._ I was hoping to dance tonight, but it doesn't look like that will be happening at all. I wasn't under the impression after Mr. Grey's departure Tuesday night that he'd be flying back in on his helicopter to see me Thursday after my day off. However, I thought I'd at least be getting some dance studio time in. I totally forgot about Betsy's party.

I guess my night will only consist of plain ol' waiting tables while watching the likes of Bambi, Starla and the other talent doing what they do best.

 _Bah_ …dancing has _so_ spoiled me.

….

On our way inside, Betsy explains to me that Josh and the boys are down the street at a friend's house for another hour until the party ends. When I enter Betsy's living room, Bambi springs up from sitting in the midst of thirty-some-odd women and gives me a hug. I'll never get used to seeing Bambi in jeans and a t-shirt. I'm so accustomed to her looking like a superstar sex-kitten, all sparkling and shimmering on the floor at Zion. However, she's still just as beautiful in regular attire. The simple rose tattoo on her left upper arm isn't as prominent right now as it is at work under the sheen of body glitter.

"Hey girlie, Betsy told me all about your car trouble. I'd be glad for you to ride into work with me tonight."

"Great," I say quietly. I look around and the other ladies are staring at me with weird looking smiles on their faces.

"Alright girls," Joy says, calling everyone's attention up front as she stands behind a table draped in black linen.

It's then when I realize the buffet of sex toys that are scattered all over it. My jaw drops. Betsy stands on my other side and pushes down on my shoulders, urging me to take a seat on the sofa right beside Bambi. I do so reluctantly, and Betsy follows suit.

"Now. the first lady who answers this next question gets to own this," Joy says loud and proud. She holds up a black object shaped similar to a banana, but curved and bumpy in three spots. Each end is rounded. It's obvious that it's some type of vibrator.

I've never owned a vibrator.  
Not sure if I _ever_ want one.

"This is _Black Beauty_. She has helped many ladies such as yourself to receive the utmost pleasure… _repeatedly_."

"Oh _my_ ," I hear one of the ladies' gasp behind me, and the room erupts in laughter. I can feel my cheeks burning in embarrassment.

 _Why in the hell am I here?  
I should be going to work._

"You got that right," Joy smirks. "It's rechargeable and waterproof with eighty-eight glorious different pulses that'll send you soaring."

 _Eight-eight?_ What in the world? Why so many?

"And yes, it can be fully immersed in the bathtub," Joy adds.

" _Whaaatt_?" one older woman says, causing the other women to giggle. I sit there in a daze.

"You heard me," Joy quips. She presses a button. "Do you hear that?"

The house is suddenly dead silent.

"No," another woman calls out.

"Good. It's on one of the strongest settings and it's as quiet as a mouse," Joy says proudly. "It's one of my best sellers made with the best technology. And it can be yours for free if you can answer this question."

The ladies surrounding me are chattering excitedly, while I want to roll my eyes.

 _I don't get it. What's so special about a sex toy?  
I'd rather be touched and held by a man instead any day. _

I sigh longingly at the thought.

"How many different orgasms is a woman capable of having?" Joy poses the question.

I look around and see a sea of hands go up, including Betsy and Bambi's.

"You," Joy says, pointing to a young-looking woman across my left.

"One," she answers somewhat confidently.

Joy smiles and shakes her head at the woman before she continues to scan the room.

 ** _'One'_** _isn't the answer?_

I think back to the most recent time in the VIP room when Mr. Grey was staring hungrily into my eyes while I was straddling his lap, and his thumb was going to town on my clitoris through the fabric of my costume. I came almost immediately.

 _Holy shit._ My thighs press together at the teeth-clinching thought.

"Ana."

My eyes go wide when she calls my name. As Joy smiles directly at me, I slowly feel all eyes turning my way. I'm petrified.

"Uh… _three_?" I literally just pulled that number out of my ass.

She smiles wide. " _Ding-ding!_ Winner!"

"Yay!" I hear Bambi cheer in my ear.

I gape at Joy as she bends down stands back up holding a small black gift bag in her hand.

"Come and get your prize, Ana. Who can tell me what these three different orgasms are?"

Betsy tilts my back forward, urging me to stand and retrieve my prize.

"That thing is _amazing_ ," she whispers in my ear. I'm mortified, but I stand anyway. When I get the prize, Joy gives me a proud nod.

"Anyone else? I have one more Black Beauty to give away." And when she says that, the hands go up all around the room once more.

….

Sometime later, I am smiling and laughing away with Betsy, Bambi, and some of the other nice ladies that I just met. This party was actually fun. I learned so much. Joy is definitely a wealth of information. Every time she said something poignant, I made a mental note of a question to research the answer for later. By the end of her spiel, I tallied several of them.

"Alright ladies, well…I hope you learned something today," Joy concludes. "If you have your order forms ready, my assistant Mary will call you in one at a time to place your orders in the study down the hall. I'll stay out here and answer any questions you may have."

I finally check the clock on the wall. _  
Shit!_

"I'm late," I whisper frantically to Bambi.

"No worries, I texted L-Mo earlier and told her that your car broke down and you were coming in with me," she says with a calm smile.

"Thanks," I say, sighing in relief.

"You're going to love _Black Beauty_ ," Betsy's friend Norma says, leaning up from her seat behind me.

I chuckle. "That's what I hear."

"No, I'm serious," she says with expanded eyes dead on me. "If I could have one in every room, I would."

 _Geez, lady._

"I'm jealous. I want one, too," Bambi laughs. When Norma busies herself with another guests, I lean in closer to Bambi.

"Don't you have a guy?" I ask. "Why would you ever need this?" I frown, gesturing discretely towards my wrapped _'prize'_.

"I don't have anyone right now," Bambi says with a sober expression. "There was a guy, but that ended a few months ago. He cheated on me. _That,_ over there…" she says, also pointing to my bag, "doesn't cheat."

I laugh and so does she.

As Betsy continues being the ultimate host, Bambi and I stick by one another since we're the only ones here that know each other. At this point, we're standing in the center of the living room while Bambi proudly clinches her order form. I decide to forgo the _purchasing room_ , but I'll have to wait on Bambi anyhow since she is my ride into work this evening.

"I highly recommend the skin tingling cream. I'll let you try some of mine," Bambi offers. I give her a baffling look and her eyes widen. "What?"

"This is weird…all of it," I say with a nervous laugh. She chuckles.

"What's so weird about it?" a stern voice speaks close by.

Both Bambi and I turn our bodies in the same direction and are taken by surprise to see Joy standing there, eavesdropping on our conversation. I'm beyond embarrassed.

"No, I sincerely want to know what you think," she says with compassion in her eyes. "It's just you, me and Miranda. Nothing you say will leave this triangle."

Right away, I feel defensive. I don't enjoy being singled out. My mouth refuses to move.

"Miranda, why don't you go ahead and jump next in the ordering line since you have to rush in to work," Joy says sweetly. Bambi nods and heads towards the hallway, leaving me defenseless with the self-proclaimed _goddess of stamina and seduction_ who so happens to hock sex toys and self-help booklets for a living.

 _I'm in no mood to be interrogated today.  
I get enough of that at work with Mr. Grey and at home with Kate._

"I'm so happy that you won Black Beauty. You sure do know your orgasms," Joy smiles at me. I slightly lower my head.

"I only guessed. If you picked me first, I would've said ' _one'_ as well," I confess.

"I see," she says, amused. "Well, I'm glad I picked you second. You're going to love it. And if you explore correctly, you'll experience _all three_ with it."

As my eyes perk wide open at the statement, my mind immediately flashes back to the VIP room with Mr. Grey, and I immediately know which orgasm I've already experienced.

"You're quite young, Ana," she observes. "I was watching you from up front and I can tell that you had so many questions. I'm right here, so ask away."

I'm stunned that she's put me on the spot yet again, so I'm unable to speak out even one of the many inquires that I was so eager to research later.

 _How to prepare yourself for sex?  
What if sex hurts?  
How do you get out of your head and just enjoy the moment?_

 _How do you let that one certain guy know that you very much would like to go the extra mile with him, even though you've never_ _ **done it**_ _before?_

My lips can't form together to spout out any of these questions.

"I'm going to ask you a personal question, but don't feel obligated to answer it," Joy says.

"Are you a virgin?"

Immediately, my defenses go up and I gasp. I'm sure I appear appalled to her as she quickly places a hand on my forearm and begins to apologize for her frankness.

"Like I said, you don't have to answer that. Just know that this is what I do. If you are interested in learning anything about sex and intimacy, I'll be happy to teach you everything you want to know."

I gape at her as she pulls out a business card from her blazer pocket. "No strings attached. I just want to help. Give me a call anytime if you just want to talk. I'm a professional and anything you say will remain in confidence. No matter what your sexual endeavors are, I am rooting for you, Ana."

Suddenly Joy reaches in and hugs me tightly, but I stand there…frozen.

 _This woman is weird.  
_ _ **Too**_ _weird._

….

As Bambi finally makes it on the other side of the door of the makeshift ordering room, I sit off to myself, thumbing through some of Betsy's _home and garden_ magazines. Suddenly, there's a ring at the door, and Betsy peels away from friends to answer it. I look back down into my lap and continue to parse through the pages of my third magazine.

 _I am beyond ready to leave.  
I need to figure out if my car can be repaired, or if I need to buy a new one. _

The thought of buying a new car sends a wave of anxiety straight through me. _I'd have to dip into the stash I set aside for tuition payment, which would set me back._ I take in a deep breath in order to calm my nerves.

"Hey, Ana," I hear someone call out. I look up and I see Betsy approaching me, donning a shocked expression. I immediately stand in alarm.

"Someone is here to see you."

I gape at her. "Who?"

"Christian Grey."

My heart nearly stops beating.

" _What_? He's _here_?"

She nods slowly, and I peep a grin trying to surface.

"How?" I gasp.

Betsy shrugs. "Why don't you go out there and ask him yourself?"

* * *

CHRISTIAN

I stand alone on Betsy Davis' brick red painted wood porch, gazing out at the random passing cars and the picket fences all around the neighborhood as the fall evening sky darkens.

Lake Oswego is a very lovely looking community, but it's more conducive to families. It's certainly not for me. I prefer the hustle and bustle of the city life where there are no kids on bikes to jog around, nor a fleet of minivans to drive pass that don those annoying family decals on the back window.

The Davis' porch is adorned with a slew of varied potted plants; the lawn, neatly manicured. The flower beds are also very well kept. Where does Mrs. Davis find the time to do all of these things if she's wiping babies' dirty asses and taking snot-nosed adolescents to karate class or wherever the hell she takes them? Not to mention, she's spending nights and weekends over at Zion teaching Miss Steele new sexy dances.

I'm certain Betsy Davis' attorney husband is far too busy running his firm to even bother with all of this tedious upkeep.

 _Maybe they hired someone to do the job.  
I would have._

I turn and gaze at the parked car on the curb, where Taylor sits inside waiting for me. It's a black luxury Audi SUV with tinted windows, just like the one back in Seattle. I recently purchased it because I needed a permanent vehicle here in Portland since I plan on being here more often. Also, taking my helicopter here is more feasible than making the three-hour drive in order to ride around in the type of car that I like.

Besides my frequent visits with Miss Steele at Zion, I've also justified my presence in Portland via a more hands-on approach in the recent acquisition of SNA Corp. Stefan Neumann just got his walking papers less than three days ago.

Let's just say that he was less than thrilled about the news.

Even his lawyers had to explain to him that GEH was within our rights to release him from the very company that he started. I'm pretty sure after that conversation was done, Neumann fired them all for not catching that vital loophole in the paperwork before they advised him to sign it.

Oh, well. He shouldn't have fucked with me that night at Zion by trying to outbid me.

 _Anastasia Steele dances for no one_ _ **but**_ _me._

Neumann or anyone else who tries to take what is mine will soon find out the hard way that their actions aren't very wise. I am too well connected and powerful. With one snap of my finger, I can stop an entire supply chain, immediately decimating an entire corporation.

 _I am the king of the Pacific Northwest._

Earlier today, I decided to surprise Miss Steele at her apartment to let her know what I was thinking regarding my proposed short-term plan. I won't overwhelm her with the big picture. Instead, I will unveil it a piece at a time. Hopefully she'll get so wrapped up in what I have to offer, that in seven months' time, her saying _'yes'_ to becoming my submissive won't seem like such a major stretch for her.

 _Indeed, I'll have so much fun preparing her beautiful body for what's in store._

A passing car distracts my train of thought until I hear the door creaking behind me. I turn to see Miss Steele finally surface. She looks utterly surprised to see me, to say the very least. Even in jeans and a floppy ponytail cascading over an over-washed gray hoodie, she still looks radiant. As she steps out onto the porch, I fight back a grin.

"Miss Steele."

She gasps. "What are you doing here?"

"You're _late_ ," I say with a furrowed brow. "I have an appointment with you."

With her mouth set in a straight line, Miss Steele shakes her head.  
"No, you don't."

"I arranged it three hours ago."

"But I didn't know that," she counters. "I was just going in to serve."

" _Yeah_ ," I reply with pursed lips. "We'll discuss _that_ later."

She gazes at me sideways. "How did you know I was even here?"

I clear my throat. "Well, I came to your apartment first and I noticed that you were unable to start your car. I was going to offer you a ride in to work, but then your roommate showed up. So, I followed you and waited outside," I say, pointing over to my SUV. "I've been sitting out here for a little while now, wondering when you were planning on heading in to work."

Miss Steele looks to be beside herself.

"So, you followed me here?"

I smirk and nod. "Is there a party going on or something?" I ask, scanning the line of cars parked near the house.

In no time, her skin turns a delicious pink. The very sight causes me to hum in delight.

 _Oh, yes.  
She will do._

"Yeah…something like that," she says, bashfully. "I only came here to ride in with Bambi. She'll be out soon."

"Tell her you have a ride," I order. "I'll take you to work, and we can talk on the way."

Her eyes widen in response. " _Talk_?"

I nod. "Yes. I have a proposal for you. Hopefully it will be beneficial for the both of us."

"A proposal?" she squeaks, alarmed.

" _Mm hmm_. Why don't you go in and tell her real quick? I'll be waiting for you in the backseat of that car," I say, gesturing over to where it's parked once again.

Her eyes grow even wider. "The _back seat_?" she gasps in consternation.

I laugh. "I have a driver, so unless you want to sit next to him, meet me in the back."

….

As I watch Miss Steele hand Taylor her duffle bag from behind the tinted glass, I idly wonder what it contains.

 _Is it one of her sexy little dancing dresses?  
I wonder what she will grace me with tonight. _

_I can't wait to see her dance for me once more.  
It's all I ever think about throughout the day._

 _I can't wait to touch her again._

 _I'm so eager to watch that sweet face of hers as she comes on my lap…_

"So why did you decide to knock on Betsy's door?"

Her sharp tone just before the rear door closes shut takes me out of my reverie.

"Buckle up," I order her, ignoring her scolding glare. Petulantly, she quickly fastens her seatbelt and returns to scolding me with her captivating blue eyes.

"Like I said," I start, "I have an appointment and was wondering when you were planning on heading to work. Your management tried getting ahold of you, but you never answered your phone."

As Taylor pulls off, a frazzled Miss Steele struggles to retrieve her shoulder bag by her foot. She places it on the seat next to her, takes out her phone, and flips it open.

 _Oh…no, no, no, no, no._

"What in the hell is _that_?" I say, appalled. It's been almost a decade since I've seen a phone like that. _How old is that thing? Is it the same age as her car?_

Her puzzled eyes gaze up from her phone and look at me for a second before brushing me off and continuing to parse her missed calls, I presume.

"Um…I don't see any calls on here from Zion," she eventually says.

"It's no wonder that you receive _any_ calls from that thing. It's a relic."

Her gaze comes back up and her head goes backwards as if she takes offense to my statement.

"Seriously, my grandfather probably has one just like it," I frown.

Out of nowhere, she reaches over and strikes me on the arm. I'm stunned but amused by the reaction. However, as soon as she sits back in her seat, her immediate remorse is quite evident.

"I'm sorry," she murmurs. "I totally violated your _'no touching'_ rule."

I chuckle, "No, seriously…you need a new phone."

Her sweet face sinks just a little bit more. "A new phone is the last thing on my mind right now. Between catching up on tuition for the school year, I now have to either repair or replace my car."

"I can't believe you've been driving that tin lizzy to Zion all this time. It's not in the best of neighborhoods," I frown.

"Don't worry, I'll probably be getting a new car tomorrow," she says with a painful sigh.

"What kind of car are you getting?"

"I don't know yet."

I take in a deep breath, considering the notion of possibly getting her the same car I get all of my submissive seven months ahead of time, **_if_** she kindly accepts the first part of my offer that I plan on running down to her shortly. But as I consider the thought, a burning question from earlier comes to surface.

"Why did your roommate drop you off at Mrs. Davis' house?"

"Like I said…Bambi was there, and I was riding into work with her," she says with a slight attitude.

 _Oh girl, you have no idea how much that insubordinate behavior is so unacceptable in my book, and I can't_ _ **wait**_ _until I'm able to punish you._

"Was is just that, or is it because your roommate Katherine Kavanagh has no idea where you work?" I lob at her. And to my surprise, she cuts straight to the chase.

"Bingo," she says, pointing a finger right at me for hitting the mark straight on.

"I see," I hum. "Well, I wanted to bring something up to you tonight. I know that your contract with Zion prohibits current clientele from having a side deal with staff. However, I would like an exclusive deal with you."

Miss Steele is thrown for a loop. "But I only dance for you."

"I know, but I don't want you serving anymore, either. I'll cover above and beyond what you would've made in tips."

She gasps. "You don't want me serving? Why not?"

I look her dead in the eye. "Because. I _don't_."

"You're going to have to give me a little more than that, Mr. Grey," she says, fighting a smirk.

"I've witnessed you get a little _too friendly_ with the clientele," I say, none too pleased.

She sighs and then laughs. "Like how?"

"You know, like smiling at them and being all nice and shit."

Her blue eyes widen, and she tilts her head at me. I'm not sure what she thinks that gesture does in order to help her understand what I am saying to her.

"That's called _excellent customer service_ , Mr. Grey. It's _service with a smile_. It's required any place that you have to work with _people_."

 _Her and her smart mouth.  
My cock would fit perfectly inside of it._

"What about sitting down and laughing and joking around with customers? Is _that_ a requirement, Miss Steele? Has Dawson Jacobs asked you to dance for _him_ yet?"

She gapes at me in terror.

"Oh yes…I know things," I say with a furrowed brow, answering her unspoken question.

You'd be surprised what flashing three hundred bucks in front of a loose-lipped bartender named _Sweetness_ will get you. I sincerely hope that Miss Steele is careful who she considers to be a friend if one can be so easily persuaded for information.

"So, you've been stalking me," she murmurs, nearly petrified.

"No, I've been _observing you_. I need to know what my investment has been up to."

Again, she tilts that head.

" _Investment?_ So, I'm an object to you and not a human being," she says with spite.

"I didn't say that," I counter.

"But it's implied."

"I don't know why it would be," I say, portraying innocent. "I am investing in _you_ , am I not?"

Frustrated, she sighs. "Yeah…I mean _no_ …"

Her head looks like it's nearly about to explode, so I try and take her out of her misery.

"So, here's the deal. As long as you live within a sixty-mile radius of Portland, you are prohibited to quit Zion and still see me as a client without getting sued."

" _What_?" she gapes. "How do you know that?"

I frown at her. "Because I read the fucking contract, which you obviously failed to do."

"No," she says, completely ignoring my chastisement, "I mean, how in the world did you see the hiring paperwork in the first place?"

"I have my ways, Miss Steele," I say cryptically.

"Stop calling me that!" she snaps.

"It's your name, isn't it?"

"Yeah, but you can't say it. What if you call me ' _Miss Steele'_ at work, and my boss hears you? _Then_ what?"

"You're making the assumption that I'm stupid enough to do that," I say slowly through gritted teeth, and she quails in response.

"Now," I preface, starting my proposal once again. "I'll continue to come to Zion during the week when I can, at least two nights a week for a thirty-minute session. You will only work during the days and times that I am there. I will cover your salary plus any potential tips you would've earned, as well as the top price for two three-hour dances on weekends."

"A _three-hour dance_?" she squawks with eyes wide open.

"Yes… _two_. On Saturdays and Sundays, I'll want you for three-hour sessions. Well, at least until you graduate," I say with a smile.

 _Then you'll move to Seattle after graduation and I'll have you for much longer._

"Three hours in a private room?" she gasps.

"Well, I haven't completely ironed all of that out yet. On weekends, I'd prefer to have you dance for me in the executive suite at The Heathman Hotel. I'll just need to clear that with Jay Dark."

To my surprise, she laughs. "You can't be serious," she puffs out in a chuckle. "There's _no way_ I can dance for _three-hours_."

My hand stretches across until it reaches a loose tendril of her hair. I slowly caress it up and smooth it across the rest of her silky mane. She freezes.

"But _I_ can," I hum sensually.

Miss Steele suddenly shudders and then shakes her head until my hand falls away. She looks straight ahead to ensure that Taylor isn't listening before turning back to me.

"You're paying me to have _sex_ with you?" she mouths.

A smile creeps across my lips. "I don't pay for sex. I'm only paying you to dance. But if we so happen to have sex…"

Immediately, she places a finger to her lips and shushes me like a disobedient child at church as her eyes bounce frantically between me and the back of Taylor's head. I laugh.

"Taylor doesn't care. He knows what's going on."

She looks appalled. "What does he know?"

Yeah – I can't spring the heavy shit on her quite yet. If she knew about the many things that Taylor and my housekeeper have witnessed, I don't know if she could handle it at this stage of the game.

 _Best to introduce her to my lifestyle slowly._

"He knows why I come here…to Portland."

"So, he helps you stalk me?" she says defiantly.

I look up at the rearview mirror and catch Taylor fighting a smile. When our eyes meet, he quickly remembers himself. I frown.

 _Thanks Taylor. I see where your loyalty lies._

* * *

ANA

My mind is racing all over the place as I peel out of my street clothes inside of a changing room in the servers' boudoir. As I slide out of my jeans and into a shimmery pink dress more suitable for someone like Starla, I am practically freaking out over Mr. Grey's proposition for sex on the weekends. I know that's what he wants. I could see it in his burning gray eyes.

 _Holy shit._

Even so, I can't help but be a moth flying straight towards his incinerating flame. I could've told him in the back seat of his sweet ass ride that I am still a virgin, but that was neither the time nor the place to bring that up, especially with his driver in our midst.

I can't believe Grey, just spouting out whatever's on his mind in front of his driver and not even giving a shit. He must _really_ trust him.

 _What in the hell am I going to do?_

I sigh out loud.

I have Joy's card. She's a sexpert.  
I also know that this man I am getting ready to dance for is a sexpert, too.

 _Oh bloody hell, those extremely gifted hands of his.  
_ The very thought of them causes me to shiver.

Perhaps Joy can guide me.  
 _Or maybe she can tell me I'm completely nuts to be entertaining this indecent proposal._

Yeah…I am absolutely, positively freaking out right now.

* * *

CHRISTIAN

The music piping down from the ceiling obviously samples the old classic, _Time Of The Season_ by The Zombies, but R&B singer Melanie Fiona's _Give It To Me Right_ brings the tune a brand new seductive lease on life. Couple that with _'Miss London's'_ relentless booty shaking and rhythmic grinding, and I'm in heaven.

In the song lyrics and in Miss London's dance, I feel that I am being directly challenged to give this dancing beauty's body all of the pleasure that it demands. And I'm trying to make that a reality, but Miss Steele has yet to give me an affirmative response to my question from earlier.

 _Fuck._ She's humping the floor now.

 _That's right baby.  
Work that sweet, gorgeous ass in a circle just like that.  
Work it, and then bring it directly over to me._

I'm getting so hard watching her body breathe new life into the music.

 _It's settled_ – I think to myself.  
 _This girl must dance for me always._

I hum to myself in anticipation, eager for the day when she finally dances for me in my playroom buck ass naked, right before I tie her up to the Saint Andrew's cross and fuck her silly.

 _Mm_... what a delightful thought.

And I'm certain that once she pops that beautiful round ass in that pink sequins dress into my lap, my fingers will make her say ' _yeah'_ , just as Melanie Fiona sings right now in song.

In no time flat, she saunters over in my direction and lowers her beautiful bottom into my lap with her face turned away from me. Immediately, I wrap one arm around her tiny waist, while one hand glides down her neck and pushes her hair over to one side. I plant kisses all over her sweet exposed skin there, and she moans. The hand that just moved her hair now glides down slowly until it reaches her left breast. I stroke it until I feel her nipple grow firmly in my fingertips. She gasps and wiggles in my lap with her head leaning back against my shoulder.

 _You like that, baby? Huh?  
I have so much more planned for you. _

_All you have to do is say 'yes'._

The music stops, and I hear nothing but her harsh breathing as my hand reaches over to the other breast and does the same with that one. As she gasps out loud, I kiss her hard on the neck and I moan my delight.

"Say _yes_ , Anastasia…and I will give your body everything that it craves," I utter.

My mouth takes her neck once more and the hand on her right breast travels all the way down to her flat stomach, and then to her thigh before going up her skirt. My forefinger immediately finds the prize.

"Ahhh," she gasps, throwing her head further back into me.

"You ache there, _yes_?" I breathe. She's _so_ wet.

 _Mm…_

And with that, I push her panties to the side and slide a finger inside of her. She gasps loudly.

 _God_ …she feels so divine – so wet and warm. My cock in my suit pants jockeys for position.

" _Yes_?" I say, teasing her. "Is this what you needed, baby?"

" _Oh_ …oh my god," she chokes, barely able to speak.

I start to move my finger inside of her to a rhythm all my own; my waist, grooving along with it as I press my ridged cock against her sweet, sweet ass.

Fuck, I want this girl.  
Right here.  
Right now.

" _Ahhhh_ …."

"Huh?" I taunt. "You want me to stop?"

" _No_ … _please_ …"

 _Good girl._

My finger goes in and out even faster, and she releases short, quick breaths.

"I'm going to make you come, girl," I groan into her ear.

" _Ahhhhh_!"

When her head turns away, I remove my arm that was around her waist and use it to turn her head back towards me.

 _Oh no you don't.  
Don't you dare hide from me.  
I want to see this. _

Her eyelids are clinched tightly as my mouth swoops down over hers to claim it.

 _Man, she is so fucking sweet._

Suddenly, I feel her insides quicken all over my finger.  
She's ready.

The second my mouth releases hers, she lets out a scream.

 _Fuck, I hope security doesn't burst in here._

"That's it," I say calmly in the midst of her storm.

She comes hard, and I pull my finger out of her right away to bask in her euphoria. I don't even let her catch her breath when I put my salesman hat back on.

"Don't you see…you can have that and much more if you just say _'yes'_ to my offer."

Flushed and breathing hard, she has just enough strength to open her eyes and gape at me.

"Are you being serious right now?" she pants.

"As fucking cancer."

Frustrated, she leaps out of my lap and spins around. She looks down at me in total disbelief.

"You don't even understand what just happened right now, yet you're still pushing me to quit my _job_?" Miss Steele spits out.

I'm dumbfounded. I mean, it's not like I've never made her come before in this very room many times. I don't understand what her big deal is. Perhaps she's just upset due to the terms of our pre-agreement. I want to make things crystal clear for her.

"I'm _not_ making you quit your job. I just want to be your only client."

"So you can _fuck_ me?"

I am stunned.

 _Why does she have to make it sound so…so crass?_

"Well… _yeah_ ," I say with a lopsided smirk.

She laughs, but it's evident that it's out of sheer frustration and not humor.

"I really need to think about what it is you're asking me for. I don't want to be just a hired lay." Her trepidation is more than evident on her beet-red face.

 _I absolutely need to put her at ease._

"Don't get me wrong, I still need you to dance for me. That's _really_ what I'm paying you for. It's not for sex," I clarify.

She sighs. "Like I said, I need to think about this. _Please_ ," she pleads.

I sigh, but for a completely different reason than her.

 _What in the hell is there to think about?_

"Fine," I grumble.

I just made her come and she still wants more time.

 _Dammit._

And I swore to myself as I waited for her to get ready and join me in the VIP room that an orgasm was all she needed in order to be fully persuaded that I can make her body feel so many wonderful things during our weekend arrangement.

 _So much for that stellar plan, Grey._

Still, I'm itching to teach her that she should never be ashamed of a good fuck. This is not a prostitution ring. _No_ , we are simply two consenting adults who obviously enjoy one another's company.

If only she could just get out of that pretty little head of hers and stop making this out to be what it isn't, we can both be happy.

* * *

ANA

Last night I lie awake in bed for many hours it seems, unable to shake everything that happened. As I watch the sun creep into my room through the blinds, a reoccurring question remains in my psyche.

 _Am I still a virgin_?

 _Is fingering considered to be penetration, thereby causing me to be deflowered?_

I did notice a small splattering of blood in my underwear later that night, and I'm not on my period. _Fuck, I should've told him that I was a virgin like I was originally going to._

 _Aargh, this is all so frustrating!_

I'm almost anxious enough to call Joy in order to find out what the deal really is. But would she laugh at me? Yeah, I know that she said that she's available to lend me any advice whenever I need it, but I can't help but feel foolish and embarrassed for being so… _unlearned_. It's exasperating.

….

As my day slowly creeps by, I eventually meet Kate after my one and only class for the day in the commuters' parking lot. For once, I'm not at ease that it's a Friday. For starters, I'm on my way to search for a new car. Afterwards, I have _two_ papers to write. And I don't have to work at Zion at all today.

Yep, the thing that makes me feel most uneasy is that I don't get to see Mr. Grey until tomorrow night. This same man who presented me with the wildest proposal just last night – _that he probably wants an answer to by tomorrow_ – has me too eager to see him again.

It's crazy, I know.

"My dad knows the owner of a dealership," Kate says when I jump into her car. "We'll start there."

I sigh and close my eyes.

"Ana, this will be good. You'll feel so much better driving a brand-new set of wheels. It'll do wonders for your state of mind. You'll see," she beams at me.

About two and a half hours later, I am driving out of the lot in a virtually brand new 2010 Nissan Versa. I'm not too thrilled with the monthly installments, and I'm even less thrilled about the steep down payment that I had to fork out.

I actually had to talk myself from off the ledge before signing the paperwork.

 _Calm down, Steele. You still have plenty of time to pay for the rest of fall semester and all of spring. As long as you keep dancing for Grey, things will be fine._

Never mind the fact that he just finger banged me last night and is forcing me to quit my job to work only for him.

Anyone in my position would literally jump at the opportunity to dance for and partake in hot sex with Christian Grey. Getting all of the bills paid is simply an added bonus. But for some reason, I think I want a little bit more than what he's offering.

 _No…it's not just the money.  
Not with him, anyway. _

I'm afraid that with him, it'll only just be about the sex. Granted, it's probably going to be the best sex ever, but what in the hell else do I have to compare it to?

 _Jesus, my entire life is a dumpster fire right now._

….

When I arrive on the floor to work Saturday night, Becky immediately pulls me away from the bar before I can place my first drink order for one of my tables.

"Girl," she whispers with startled eyes. "I overheard L-Mo telling someone earlier over the phone that Mr. Dark was pissed at her for the time she slipped out to Mr. Neumann about Mr. Grey coming here to see you."

"What?" I gasp.

 _Oh my god, I think I'm going to be sick._

She nods. "Yeah, I know. It's fucking slimy if you ask me. L-Mo knew damn well that she'd provoke a bidding war over you. Nobody wins except for her and Jay Dark."

"Yeah, and they're a couple," I hiss.

She gapes at me. "How did you now that? That's not even widely known. I mean, it's highly speculated, but we're not stupid."

I nod. "I figured it out," I lie. "Fuck her."

"Yeah, but don't say that to her until _after_ you earn your entire college tuition," she smiles at me.

"I don't know if I can even stay here for that long. I don't trust these people, Becky."

"I've got your back," she says. "No matter what happens."

"Thanks," I say, giving her a hug. She hugs me back soundly.

"By the way, it looks like you'll be seeing me more often," she says. "I have to pick up more hours after my guy just got laid off at Nike."

I gasp. "Oh no. What did he do there?"

"He was a certified protection officer for the CEO. They ended up cutting the guy's security staff by level of seniority, and Luke was the low man on the totem pole. Oh well, sucks for Mr. CEO. Those crusty old geezers with guns that are left won't be as quick on the draw as Luke. He spent four years in the military. He was highly trained on weapons. He served in the middle east. He's more than qualified for that job."

"Geez, that's awful," I groan. "I'm so sorry."

"So, if you know any rich dudes who need personal protection, please refer them to _my_ guy," she laughs.

"Hey, can he move to Seattle?" I joke.

"To work for Christian Grey? _Sure_ , if Luke can make enough money to support us both," she quips. "I'd love to move to Seattle. There's just something extra there that isn't necessarily here in Portland.

"Both places are rainy and gloomy for most of the year," I say with a frown.

Becky chuckles. "But still, I think I'd like it way better than Seattle."

Hmm…perhaps I will, too.

 _One day._

* * *

CHRISTIAN

Miss London looks magnificent in that same black deep V-neck dress she wore when she blew me away with her very first dance routine. As she sits right beside me in the VIP room, I can't keep my hand off of her thigh as I stroke it up and down. She doesn't even blink when I touch her anymore.

It's…natural.  
 _If only I were as brave as her._

I quickly cancel the agonizing thought.

"I'm trying to picture you saying, _'the red pill'_ each time you come here," she giggles.

"I don't," I say point blank.

She gapes at me.

"I don't say that shit anymore. Shaun simply laughs at me every time I come here."

Her eyes widen. "Shaun _never_ smiles." Then she gives me a smile all her own. "You have this crazy of way of making people do things that they wouldn't normally do."

" _Oh_? Do I?" I say ironically.

"Yeah," she replies in that shy why she often does. It's beyond alluring. "I know you're waiting on my answer. Can you at least give me until the next time I see you?"

My brow furrows. "I'll be back Monday," I tell her. "I do have a late meeting that afternoon, but I will let your management know if I'm running a little late. I would offer to text you personally, but I'm afraid that piece of shit phone of yours wouldn't receive it."

"Stop making fun of my phone," she giggles.

"As soon as you say _'yes'_ , I'm getting you a brand-new smartphone," I tell her. "I need to be able to get ahold of you at all times."

My statement obviously stuns her.

"You're such a control freak. I really don't know if I want to sign up for that," she says with a slight eyeroll.

"And _that_ bad habit of yours will also stop," I warn her.

" _What_ bad habit?" she says, totally oblivious.

" _You_ – rolling your eyes."

"I don't _roll my eyes_."

"Ah…yeah you do," I snappily tease.

" _Nuh unnn_ ," she mutters flirtatiously.

" _Uh huhhh_ ," I flirt right back.

She laughs.  
She dances.

We kiss.  
I tease her.  
I make her come.

And I plead with her one last time to let me be her one and only.

Client, that is.

I'd be lying if I said that I didn't want to fuck this girl's face off.  
I am fresh out of a sub, so I am beyond desperate for her.

 _Just one thing at a time, Grey._

I resolve to do this modified vanilla shit disguised as a business exchange, and then casually throw in some _advanced activities_ in order to prepare her for what I'll expect in May.

"I just want you to keep on dancing for me, Miss Steele," I whisper in her ear as she comes down from her orgasm. "You don't have to have sex with me, unless you _really_ want to."

 _Oh, but you will._

* * *

ANA

As I lay in bed on a Sunday night, I realize that I might just be the first person on planet Earth to ever anticipate a Monday.

For the very first time, I behold _Black Beauty_ , the prize that I won at Betsy's sex toy party last Thursday. I charged her up until her light turned blue as I sit home alone, while my roommate hangs out late with some guy that I don't even care to remember his name. _He won't be around for long._ And out of sheer boredom, I decided to give this wacky looking dildo a whirl. Or will it be giving _me_ a whirl? Who the hell knows.

I lay flat on my back in the dark in a cami and short shorts as I cycle through the insane number of pulsations that it does. To my surprise, I finally stumble across one setting that practically makes my eyes pop out. _Whoa!_ Slowly, I peel out of my shorts and underwear feeling a slight sense of shame as I do so.

 _Ana girl, what the hell are you doing?_

As I travel the smooth but suede feeling phallic object down my sex, I soon find an area that suits me just fine. Without any urging from me, my mind slowly wanders over to Christian Grey. Immediately, I imagine him laying on top of me. Soon, I am panting hard.

 _Yes…I am going to tell him tomorrow that I want to dance for him at The Heathman._

 _I absolutely want to feel this with him._

" _Oh my god_ ," I gasp, just before coming like a beast. I cover up my mouth to keep from alarming the neighbors over the wall, or Kate for that matter – in case she so happens to hear me as she steps foot inside of our apartment.

Oh yes…all hail, Black Beauty.

 _And_ Mr. Christian Grey.

….

I smile at the very idea that this might just be the final night I work this very floor. I am so looking forward to seeing Mr. Grey later on and telling him that I happily accept his offer. However, his business meeting back in Seattle is running just a bit late according to L-Mo.

Hell, I can barely look that redheaded witch in the face after what Becky told me on Saturday.

"Hey there, gorgeous," a familiar silky British voice calls out to me not long afterwards. I turn around and see a dapperly dressed Dawson. Whenever he smiles, you can't help _but_ smile back.

"Hey there, friend," I smile. "What'll you have today?"

"I'll take a stout, ma' lady," he teases. I laugh.

As I head over to the bar, I hear my fake name called.

"London?"

It's a female's voice. I'm startled when I turn and my eyes land on someone who's clearly a woman dressed up in a black suit and tie. Her face is completely in makeup, and her shortly-cut blond hair is obviously styled in a way that doesn't hide the fact that she is merely a woman wearing a man's suit.

"Hi, you don't know me, but I _sort of_ know you," she says with a slight smirk that makes me feel uneasy.

"Excuse me? I believe that I'm the one at the disadvantage here. You are…?"

"I'm a dear old friend of Christian Grey's," she purrs.

My eyes grow big and wide.

Oh god, please don't tell me that this is _Miss Complicated_. I will absolutely throw up in my mouth. Although she is rather attractive, she's obviously way too old for him.

"So," she starts in smug tone, "riddle me this: Would you truly fancy a relationship with a man who will never, _ever_ refer to you as his girlfriend? To him, you will always be a submissive. Sure, he'll shower you with money, expensive clothes, cars…jewels. In exchange, he will spank you and fuck you every which way he likes."

"What?" I barely choke out. All of the air has literally escaped me.

 _"_ _It's complicated."_

I replay his past words in my head. My heart sinks down to my feet.

"He's a dom, sweetheart," she says to me like I'm an idiot. "He has a playroom in his penthouse with sexual apparatuses that would make even a porn star blush."

I am fuming. "You're lying."

"No, I'm not," she says with a shit eating grin. "Why don't you ask him yourself when he gets here. Ask him why he's a dom. Ask him why he doesn't want to be touched."

I wince in extreme pain.

 _She knows?!_

"Yeah, I'm sure you love his money, but I'm not naïve. I know that this is more than just about _money_ for you. You are filling up his head with falsehoods. Right now, he might think that you're different from all of the other girls he's had. But once he has you in his control, it'll just be more of the same. He'll fall right back into his old habits. He's a born dominant. He can't help himself. It's in his blood."

 _I am done entertaining this woman._

As I turn on my heel and storm away to the back room, my eyes begin to flood with tears.

* * *

 ** _A/N: Oh, I know you probably hate me right now, faithful readers. :D First of all, I make you wait nearly two extra days so I can get well enough from my cold in order to complete this chapter. And if that weren't enough, I turn around and leave you on a cliffy?!_**

 ** _Well fret not, I'll be right back on schedule this Saturday. Thankfully, I don't have to travel for quite a while._**

 ** _Coming up next – Miss London confronts Mr. Grey on things that the female visitor said about her favorite client. Mr. Grey doesn't really tell our girl what she wants to hear, so she does something that nearly gives him and dozens of others a heart attack._**

 ** _That's all I will say about chapter 9 for now, tentatively titled "Fabrication."_**

 ** _Until next time, lovelies. ;) – ST2_**


	9. Chapter 9 - Fabrication

**Chapter 9** **–** **Fabrication**

ANA

I don't know how I got here, but somehow my body leads me directly to the servers' boudoir and into the third changing room down the row. I lock the door behind me.

My eyes are too blurred with tears to make out anything but shapes. As I sit in the corner of the built-in wooden bench, I hear no other sound other than my own sobbing and sniffling. I have no clue who's in the boudoir with me. I hadn't even bothered to check on my way here. My brain is too occupied with questions.

So many questions.

 _Who in the hell was that blonde woman wearing a man's suit?  
How does she know about my dealings with Christian Grey?_

 _"_ _Would you truly fancy a relationship with a man who will never refer to you as his girlfriend?"_

And I wonder – _Did he tell her about me?_  
I mean, how else would she have known that I had anything to do with him?

Finally, why did this woman feel threatened enough to show up here to personally tell me all of these insane things that he hasn't even bothered to tell me about himself… _if_ they're even true?

 _What exactly are all these things that he's being accused of, anyway?_

I'd literally throw up if this is the _complicated_ situation that he said he just got out of. I swear, this lady looked almost old enough to be his mother. When I studied her face, I got _Botox_ and _facial reconstruction_ vibes all over the place. She looked like someone's discarded trophy wife.

 _Blech._

"London? Are you here?" one desperate voice calls out just outside my door.

"Girlfriend? We're here for you. What happened?" another voice joins in.

I make out Bambi's and Becky's voices in the midst of my tears. I try to hush myself, but my head feels like it's going to explode when I do.

"London, its Becky. Please come out," she pleads. "It's just me, Bam, and Starla here."

 _Starla, too?_

Geez, I feel like such a fool out on display.  
 _I can't face these girls in this condition._

"I'm sorry," I gasp out in utter despair.

"London, sweetie…don't be sorry," Starla lulls. "I saw you run back here from the floor, upset. What exactly happened out there?"

I can't even answer her. Instead, I begin crying all over again.

 _This is horrible.  
This is absolutely horrible.  
And Mr. Grey will be here any minute now._

My mind flashes back to one private dance after the next.

 _Dirty Diana  
Erotic City _

_Give It To Me Right_

I saw nothing but his sheer delight as he watched me execute everything I learned, mixed in with just a little flavor of my very own. And then afterwards, it's all desperate mouths, grinding pelvises, and greedy hands.

Well, mostly _his_ greedy hands.

And I was going to tell him tonight that I agree to his terms to quit working the floor, and I would just dance for him exclusively instead. The agreement also included his weekend arrangement at The Heathman. But _now_ , I have no clue what accepting his concupiscent offer truly entails.

 _It's frightening._

"Becky," I choke out.

"I'm here, honey."

" _Remember_? Remember when you said that all clients at Zion have something bigger to hide?" The words stammer from my tongue, and I immediately regret saying them.

"Oh my God," I hear her audible gasp. "What is it?"

"I don't know." It's an honest statement, but it's also a retreat.

 _Steele, don't bring these girls into this mess.  
They certainly don't need the drama. _

"What if she was lying?" Starla blurts out.

I gape at the closed door.

 _She saw everything._

"I saw you arguing with that woman at the bar while I was out there dancing. I presume that she was saying something about Christian Grey?" she correctly guesses. "What if she was lying? Maybe she's jealous of you."

 _Jealous?  
Of me? _

Why would she be jealous of me?  
I'm nothing but a server moonlighting as a dancer for one man

" _She_ …she said something that very few people would know about him," I mutter shakily.

 _"_ _Ask him why he doesn't want to be touched."_

How would she have known that? And what's all that shit about some _playroom_ at his penthouse with sex-related devices? Am I supposed to believe that this man has some sort of sex dungeon in Seattle?

And he's a _dom_ , she said?  
What is that, even?  
Is that like a male dominatrix or something?

These are some very damning accusations that this so-called _old friend_ of Mr. Grey's spewed out about him. In hindsight, wish I would've stayed long enough to at least collect a name.

"Miranda…I was looking all over for you," I hear a new but familiar voice say in relief. The voice is very sweet and southern. "You weren't in your dressing room, and Elaine said that you weren't currently out on the floor or in a session."

"Oh, hey Betsy," Bambi answers.

"I have your order from the party with Joy. Who's in there?"

Suddenly, I hear whispers and I'm certain that they are talking about me. Not long afterwards, I hear several footsteps leaving area until the sound of the main door some distance away shuts. _Huh?_ I'm certain that they have all left me alone. _Until…_

"London? It's Betsy," she says in the most tender voice. "Can you let me in? It's just me."

 _Oh god, I can't._

The waterworks start all over again. My sobs are audible.

"London…I'm here for you. Just let me in. We'll stay inside, I promise," Betsy pleads.

Against my better judgment, I eventually stretch forward from the bench and unhook the latch. Betsy steps in and quickly locks the door behind her before sitting down, scooting next to me, and tugging me into her open arms. My face is now smooshed against her bosom like a small child. I lose it.

"There, there," she coos, gently massaging my back.

My weeping intensifies. I know for a fact that I am ruining her freshly-laundered _Vega Dance Lab_ sweatshirt. Vega is one of the many studios in the area that she deals with on the rare occasion when she's not either tending to her family, teaching the many girls who adore her over at the youth studio, or here at Zion working with me.

Even through the tears, I ponder how this woman has the time to do all that she does.  
Betsy Davis is literally _Super Woman._

And yet she sits here, quietly, with arms cradling me as if she has nothing else to do but wait. She's patient; not pushing me to say anything. She's just… _here_.

Still, my frantic mind continues to run rampant. As I try to make out all of these wild accusations that the woman at the bar spouted at me earlier, I can't help but recall the many times Mr. Grey's sexy face was affixed with longing as I danced for him. And now I wonder if those past gazes were nothing but lustful anticipations.

 _Does he care about me as a person, or am I nothing but a piece of meat to him?_

 _Am I simply a means to an end?_

The very thought causes a wave of anguish to flow through me.  
I snap.

"What in the hell is a _dom_ , anyway?" I blurt out through the tears. "What's a _playroom_?"

Betsy stills her hand on my back and takes in a deep, calculated breath.

"Sweetie…without me having any context, those sound like BDSM buzzwords to me."

It's exactly what I feared.  
 _Fuck._

I sit straight up and look Betsy in the eye for the first time since she came in here to comfort me.

"Like whips and chains and shit?" I gasp.

"Mm hmm," she nods. "What's this all about, anyway?"

For a few beats, I try to gather my composure. It's a useless attempt.

"Some blonde woman came here all dressed up in a man's suit and just starts spouting out all this crazy shit to me…saying that I am filling up Christian Grey's head with nonsense because he's into some _crazy shit_ ," I emote with overly exaggerated facial and hand gestures, "and there's nothing I can do about it."

Betsy's eyes grow as wide as saucers.  
" _What?_ "

"I mean, he's never alluded to having this sort of… _preference_ ," I sniff, "which is why I thought that she was straight-up lying. _Although_...she did say something else that makes me think that she knows him better than I believe she does."

"Who is she? How does she know you?" she says, worried.

"I don't know," I mumble, still in tears.

"When is Mr. Grey due here next time?"

"Like…," I glance quickly at my watch, "… _now_."

My nerves are shattered.  
 _Can I really face this man in this condition?_

" _Oh_ ," Betsy mouths, crestfallen. She takes in a clarifying breath. "Well honey bunch, you'll have to get into costume and meet him in that VIP room… _stat_. It'll be the perfect opportunity to ask him about everything yourself. It's the only way you'll make sense of any of this."

The thought of seeing him right now makes my anxiety soar. I don't understand for the life of me why I care so much about him potentially being some sort of _freak_.

Why should it even matter what he likes to do in the bedroom?  
 _Because he wants_ _ **me**_ _in that bedroom._

It's not like we're in a relationship. He's my client.

 _A client that I let into my heart._

"But why does it matter so much what he's into?" I whine in frustration. "Why is it that I care so much?"

"Because, you _care_ for him," she answers without hesitation. "It's no secret. He's the one who got you to fall in love with dancing," she grins.

 _Argh…I still have to dance tonight_ – I bellyache.

"I have no idea what dance I should even do," I spaz.

Betsy lovingly puts her arm around me. "Remember…we have two spare dances on standby. Although we've only run through them once or twice, I have no doubt in my mind that you've got this. You can even freestyle if you want."

 _Freestyle?  
_ Hell no. I'm not ready for that.

I wipe the excess moisture from my eyes.  
"So which dance should I do? The _'savage'_ routine?"

She gapes in horror. "Oh, _heck no_. That dance was just for fun. By all means, please wipe every trace of that routine from your memory." Her initial reaction is startling, but then her face soon eases up. "What about Katy Perry's _I Kissed A Girl_? Yeah…do that one."

I give her a weak nod. "I haven't picked out an outfit. I was going to do that earlier, until I got distracted."

"Girl, I have the _perfect_ dress for you," I hear someone's voice call out from the other side of the door. I'm startled.

" _Miranda_ ," Betsy mouths with a grin.

" _Oh_ ," I mouth back, relieved.

I idly wonder how much of our conversation did Bambi hear.

….

In the middle of Starla touching up my subtle makeup, and Bambi straightening out my costume in front of a mirror wall in the talents' boudoir, Starla suddenly brings her lips closer to my ear.

"Her name is _Elena_ ," she whispers. "Elena Lincoln. I went over to reception and asked."

My eyes gape at her reflection standing behind mine.

 _Elena Lincoln?  
Sounds hoity-toity. _

It would explain why she's one of the only female clients I've seen during my tenure here. She obviously has connections. _And_ money.

"She's a special guest of a VIP client," she continues.

I sigh. "She can't be a guest of Christian Grey's. Why would he allow someone in here, only for them to turn around and spread crazy shit about him?"

"I don't think that she was _his_ guest…although the girls at reception weren't able to tell me _who_."

Right away, my mind begins to formulate its own conclusion.

 _This has L-Mo's and Neumann's names written all over it._

….

I silently walk past Shaun, open the door to the VIP room, and enter – without any fanfare or pomp and circumstance. Although I am wearing Bambi's gorgeous black fringe costume dress and Starla sexy gold strapped heels, I still feel utterly deflated.

The _more-than-pleased_ expression on Mr. Grey's face does nothing to change my mood. Neither does the sexy way that his white dress, which is presently unbuttoned at the collar, and his custom-fitted gray suit pants embrace every firm muscle on his exquisite body. If I wasn't so upset, I'd cut straight to the dance, so we could get right to the kissing part.

Oh, how I love it when his mouth ravages me. He can be _so carnal_ sometimes. It's difficult not to envision him on top of me, giving me all of the things that I've never had but never knew I wanted until I met him.

 _What the hell, Steele?  
Settle your ass down. _

I can't for the life of me understand why this man has the power to make me feel so many things. Before I get too carried away with him, I need answers. _Now._

"Miss London…I apologize for being late, but I did inform you in advance that my meeting might run over," he says. His silky voice has this way of causing every nerve ending in me to ignite, but I remain on course in spite of it.

When I walk past the wine bottle and glasses to sit down two feet away from him on the velvet sofa, his brow furrows. I'm certain that he was expecting me to pour wine for the two of us. However, I have much more pressing matters at the moment.

"Miss London," he says, quickly catching on that his tardiness isn't why I appear to be so upset. "What's weighing on you this evening?"

I close my eyes and take in a clarifying breath. After I exhale, my eyes are back open and on him. He focuses on me intently, barely blinking.

"A lady named Elena Lincoln came here to see me about two hours ago."

I'm expecting him to look either befuddled or surprised. Instead, I witness traces of anger in his expression. My eyes travel downward and notice his harsh breathing elevating his chest. It's unnerving.

"When was she here?" he growls.

His anger is now undeniable, but I don't budge.

"Who is she?" I ask, ignoring his question.

"It's not a big deal," he snaps. "I'll handle her. What did she say to you?"

I gape at him.

 _If it's not a big deal, then why does it matter what she said to me?_

 _Why won't you tell me who she is?_

"She said that she was an old friend of yours and told me that you would never… _ever_ consider me your girlfriend. She said that you'd only shower me with expensive things in order to get to spank and fuck me."

" _Goddammit_ ," he hisses, before banging his fist against the glass table beside him. The abrupt reaction coupled with the piercing clattering sound of porcelain décor smacking up against a thick sheet of plexiglass makes me nearly jump out of my skin. I'm amazed that the table doesn't break. I know that those strong hands are very capable of making that happen.

"Is it true?" I mutter, pushing through the nerves. "Are you a BDSM dom with a sex dungeon in your penthouse?"

"Miss Steele," he sighs in extreme frustration.

"It's London," I say with a quiet temper.

He forcefully twists his body completely sideways towards me. I start to pant in virtual fear as his raging gray eyes lock me in.

"I'm not playing this game anymore," he snarls.

"What game are you playing, then?" I snap back. "What is it that you have to hide?" I scoot in closer to him and rest my hand on his lap. It's one of the few places where he's allowed me to touch him.

"What's the real reason why you won't let me touch you?"

Suddenly, he snatches my palm from his lap and grips me firmly by the wrist. I've never seen so much rage in anyone, much less _this_ man. It's one of the scariest things I've ever witnessed.

 _You can't go through with this deal, Steele.  
There's no telling what this man is capable of doing._

 _However, he's certainly incapable of telling the honest to god truth._

"I don't owe you an explanation," he menaces through gritted teeth.

Suddenly, something surges through me. It's enough to cause me yank free from his hold.  
I leap to my feet and tower over him.

"Fuck you," I hiss with sheer venom.  
"Then I don't owe you a dance."

I spin around and charge out of the room, but not before I hear the sound of his expensive loafers trampling behind me. When I breeze past Shaun, I now begin to hear _two_ sets of footsteps trailing me down Private Row. I catch the stunned looks of dancers loitering in the long hallway before I spot a concerned Starla just before she enters one of private rooms. She's frozen in place, but I continue to plow forward.

"London!" I hear Mr. Grey yell out behind me. He sounds so very close that it lets me know all he has to do is lunge forward in order to catch me. So, I speed up in high heels and cut across to the _Employee's Only_ area and quickly shut the door behind me. I turn around and lean back against it, catching my breath.

"London!" Grey angrily yells from the other side.

"Mr. Grey, I can't let you go back there," I hear Shaun say in his deep but calm voice.

"London!" Grey calls out once more. "I'm not leaving here until I get my dance!"

A tear trickles down from my eye.

Is this what my life has become? First, I'm a senior in college scaping by at a hardware store. Now, I'm a private dancer for some sexually deviant billionaire maniac?

Holy shit, you can't even make this shit up.  
This is completely insane.

I know he's paying me, but I'm fed up with his silent ways. I'm sick and tired of watching my back, thinking that he's going to catch me being friendly to clients out on the floor. I'm tired of constantly looking behind me whenever I drive, afraid that he's following me. Yet, when I try to get any closer to him, he keeps me at arm's length.

Sure, he'll take my lips and the rest of my skin as he pleases, kissing and touching me anywhere he likes – yet I don't have the same liberties with him. Just the other day, he pretty much said outright that wants to have sex with me. I know that this is his plan for his proposed _weekend sessions_ at The Heathman, the same place where I ironically interviewed to get hired here.

He claims that he only expects me to dance for him, but I'd be hard-pressed to think that all he wants is for me to bop around to Beyoncé for three hours straight.

If this man wants to do something that no other man has ever done to me, then he needs to be straight forward with me. The man I just saw in that VIP room was fucking angry and he eclipsed stubborn. This is _not_ a man who will open up to me easily.

And I am not some girl who'll eagerly take his bullshit lying down – _literally_.

….

I'm practically kicking and screaming when Becky, Bambi and Starla drag me into the larger breakroom. There were five girls here before us, but my friends begin to shoo them all away. Once the final girl leaves, Bambi locks the door.

I sit down at a table, and Becky sits right next to me.

"He's out there, sitting at the bar," she tells me. "He won't leave."

"I don't care," I say with a trembling voice. "I'm not going back out there."

Starla stands over me, gaping at Bambi as she approaches the table. In Bambi hands are a bottle and four shot glasses stacked on top of each other. She starts to unstack them and line them across the table.

"What are you doing?" Starla chuckles at her dancer colleague.

"Calming down our nerves," Bambi says matter-of-factly as she pops a cork with the silver bulb top from a translucent bottle.

"That's _two-hundred-dollar_ tequila," Starla gasps.

" _Fuck_ …is that Gran Patron Platinum?" gapes Becky.  
"Where in the hell did you get that?"

"Don't worry about it," Bambi smirks, as she pours out smoothly into the row of shot glasses without spilling a single drop. When she's done, she looks directly at Starla. "This is the perfect occasion. You and I just walked away from our scheduled sessions to tend to our girl, London – who's client is being a complete jerk to her. I'm sure L-Mo will be back here any minute to raise hell on all of us. Might as well take the edge off first."

Bambi hands me a shot glass first and I take it reluctantly. Soon, the girls are all raising up their shot glasses to me. With barely any energy remaining at all, I weakly lift up mine up to them.

"To London…one of the sweetest girls I've ever met, and the best dancer at Zion," Bambi toasts. The other three girls clink glasses while I stare at her in horror.

"That's absolutely not true," I sigh.

"It is," Becky piggybacks with an earnest grin. "Bam and I were in the studio the other day watching the tail-end of your practice with Betsy. You were fucking amazing."

"Yeah," cosigns Bambi. "You were. You are so gifted, girl. BD also agrees."

My head descends in embarrassment.  
 _They're only saying that to make me feel better._

"I wish I could see you dance," Starla chimes in with the sweetest little voice. "I keep hearing about how management would force you to dance if they how amazing you are," she giggles.

"L-Mo has seen me dance before and nothing has changed," I frown. Even though the redheaded skank tried to slip me over to Mr. Neumann once before.

"That was at your very first session with Betsy, and from the very little L-Mo was able to see, she was beyond impressed," Bambi counters. "Just imagine if she saw you now. She'd be totally blown away. I'm pretty sure BD has told you the horror stories when she first began teaching Starla and me."

"Oh yeah," Starla giggles, "I _suuuuucked_."

"So did I," Bambi echoes.

"You and Starla are beyond amazing," I say soberly. "I live to see you girls out there on the floor, performing without a drop of fear. I'm _nothing_ like you two."

" _No_ ," Bambi says, shaking her head. "You're better."

These praises are only words; they have no life because I simply don't believe them. I dance because I love it. I dance because I enjoy dancing for Mr. Grey. Just because I continue to dance doesn't mean that I'm any good at it.

" _Yeah, yeah_ …you're the shit, London," Becky says with a teasing eye-roll. "Can we do shots now? This is fucking good Gran Patron, here." The three of us laugh at her.

I truly adore these three girls…and Betsy and Elaine, too. Right now, I feel that I can trust them with anything. They have all made my experience at Zion much more bearable. If it weren't for them, I know for a fact that I wouldn't have lasted here for as long as I have.

Too bad that me and my dramatic ways are putting the four of us here in the breakroom at risk of losing our more-than-decently paying jobs. Bambi, Starla, and I have all skipped out on our scheduled private dances, and Becky is supposed to be out on the floor working her assigned tables.

Instead, they all decided to commiserate with me and break out the good tequila.  
 _I wonder if Bambi swiped this from Mr. Dark's personal stash?  
I've never seen this particular bottle out in the bar._

"Oh well," I say, finally lifting up my shot glass. The girls smile at me and do the same. "Here's to our final day at Zion."

" _Here-here_ ," they echo one another as we clank glasses and then down the contents in one fell swoop.

It goes down way too smoothly.

...

"I'm fucking sick of this shit!" I bark out sometime after our third shot.

"You don't have to put up with any of it," Becky says, rubbing my shoulders.

"Yeah!" slurs Bambi.

"I ask the questions, and yet I don't get any answers! It's not fair!" I whine.

"It's not right!" cosigns a buzzed Starla.

Since we've been locked away in this breakroom, several people have knocked on the door trying to get in. Each time, we'd all just yell, " _Go away!_ " in unison and began cracking up once the sound of footsteps marched away in the opposite direction.

The four of understand that next time there might not be a knock. Instead, there'll be a sound of a set of keys dangling just before the door opens and someone in management trails in behind security, who'll soon be given the orders to throw us all out on our asses.

Yet somehow, premium tequila removes the sting from potential unemployment.

"I bet you that Grey's still out there. Earlier, he would not budge." Becky says. I roll my eyes at the notion, and she pulls out her phone and looks at it. She sighs. "Damn. Elaine texted me ten minutes ago. He was still at the bar."

I sigh out loud in frustration. "Why won't he _leave_?"

"Because, he already paid," says Becky.

"I don't care," I pout. "I'll give him his money back?"

"But will L-Mo?" Becky counters with a doubtful smirk.

"My client told me that he was fine with a makeup session tomorrow. I'll throw in an extra fifteen minutes for his understanding," Bambi chimes in with a lopsided grin, obviously driven by the tequila.

"That's not why he won't leave," I scowl. "He wants to have his way on _his_ terms. But when someone challenges him, he freaks the fuck out."

"Man, the two of you sound just like an old married couple," Becky giggles.

I roll my eyes at her.

"So, what did he do? Can you tell us?" Bambi pleads.

I shake my head. "I have no idea what's going on, and he simply refuses to tell me."

Through the tequila, my hurt feelings begin to resurface. It quickly draws me to anger, and I stand abruptly to my feet.

"If he wants a dance, then I'm giving him and everyone else out there a goddamn dance!" I declare. I pour out another half-shot and quickly down it. "Betsy told me not to, but I'm doing the _'savage'_ dance…and I'm doing it out on that stage."

"Dear lord," Bambi gasps in total shock. "Betsy told me all about that one. That dance sounds absolutely illegal."

"Holy shit," gapes Becky. "Is that the dance you said will blow his natural mind?"

"Yep," I sadistically smirk. "And everyone will get to see it, _including_ him."

Hell, I'm beyond drunk and I damn well know it. A still small voice inside tells me that I will absolutely regret doing this, but the most recent splash of tequila quickly drowns out all sense of reason.

"Oh my," Starla gasps in delight. "I'd _love_ to see it."

"And you will," I say, heading towards the door. All three girls trample out of their seats and trail me.

"Wait…you're serious," Starla calls out.

I turn on my heel to face her. "As fucking cancer," I say through gritted teeth.  
 _How apt. Grey had once said that very phrase to me._

I scan across the three beautiful women who are now surrounding me. "Someone, put on _Maneater_ by Nelly Furtado and turn up the volume. Then activate the front stage lights once the first verse starts. I'm going to give all of Zion a show."

Bambi and Becky both gape at each other and delightfully cry out " _Yasssssss!_ " in unison before I turn back around and march out of the breakroom.

* * *

CHRISTIAN

 _I don't know what game this girl is playing._

I'm sitting here at the bar, fuming with my second glass of scotch in hand. I told Miss Steele that I wasn't leaving until she goes back into that VIP room and give me my fucking dance. I have Taylor keeping watch in the lot keeping in case she tries to escape through the back door.

 _I will follow her home if I have to.  
Either way, she is going to have to deal with me._

Like I expressed earlier, I don't owe her or anyone else an explanation. However, I do owe Mrs. Elena Lincoln a very severe tongue lashing. How in the fuck did she even get in here? – first of all. And secondly, how did she know about Miss Steele?

" _Who is this new girl you're seeing that caused you to end your arrangement with Madison?  
If she's not in the lifestyle, you will never be happy with her."_

All she had to go by was the name that I instructed Madison to answer to during our final bout in the playroom. _London_.

 _Fuck._

Elena also knew that I've spent quite a bit of time in Portland recently. That's probably all she needed to lead her here and shoot off at the mouth to Miss Steele. Now Miss Steele wants answers.

 _Why did Elena have to fuck things up for me?_

My ex who I most recently considered a very dear friend just threw away a month of good, solid progress. I had an ironclad plan in place to introduce Miss Steele into the lifestyle. Now, I can't get her look of despair out of my head.

 _"_ _What's the real reason why you won't let me touch you?"_

 _Fucking hell.  
You don't want to open up that messy can of worms, Miss Steele._

I also had a plan set in motion that I'm very certain would have convinced Miss Steele to quit working as a server _tonight_ , had Elena not interfered. I was going to give my favorite dancer a sweet taste of what she could expect moving forward.

I even had the paperwork and documentation for our interim agreement all sorted out. She'd no longer be under Zion's NDA, so she'd have to sign a new one with me. I also wanted her four-day weekly arrangement in writing so that she understood the terms. **_S-e-x_** isn't spelled out in black and white since I am only paying her a salary to dance. But I had every intention of sliding my dick into the picture whenever possible.

 _It's been a few weeks since my close and personal friend has received any direct attention._

I'd hoped to start training her, slowly bringing her to where I need her to be before she's able to finally make the move to Seattle next May. I even thought that if our training time in Portland went better than planned, perhaps the standard permanent weekend arrangement in Seattle could be modified. I'd be open to her moving into the sub room full-time if she so wished.

 _Then she could dance for me every single day.  
And I could fuck her absolutely anytime I wanted. _

But all of those glorious hopes have just evaporated.

 _Motherfuck me.  
I haven't the first clue how to fix the mess that Elena has made._

I decide to switch over to water before I am unable to have a reasonable conversation whenever Miss Steele finally decides to resurface. Still, I can't help but be enraged, especially when I spy a guy at one of the tables across the way who looks a lot like Dawson Jacobs. Right now, he's in the middle of a casual chat with Elaine, one of the long-time servers here.

Back when Sweetness first spilled to me that Jacobs and Miss Steele were on a _very friendly basis_ , I did my research. I am well aware of his virtual accounting firm, Jacobs and Associates based here in Portland. I might've even ran across him at an executive conference or two.

A while later when Elaine almost breezes past me at the bar, she freezes does a sudden double take.

"Mr. Grey," she gasps. I'm certain that my cold expression is what takes her aback.

"Elaine, can you fetch Miss London for me?" I order without the pleasantries.

She flashes me a perplexed look. "I thought that she was back in Private Row? With _you_? _Dancing_?"

 _Well, obviously that's obviously not the case since you see me sitting here in the shittiest of moods_ – I grumble to myself. But I know that if my outer frustrations spill out into my outside-voice, Elaine will not be so eager to help me.

And just as if she read my innermost thoughts, she immediately acquiesces. "Oh my…I'm _so_ sorry. Of course she's not in Private Row if you're up here. Let me get my client's drink, and then I'll run to the back and go look for her."

"I'd appreciate that," I manage to force out as nice as I possibly can. I'm certain it's a very ill attempt.

Still, Elaine nods cordially and walks over to the other side of the bar to flag down Sweetness. Instead of reaching for the glass of water as I should, I pick up the tumbler of remaining scotch and take another swig.

 _Come on, Miss Steele.  
Quit playing games._

….

I'm on my second glass of water and my patience is wearing thin.

 _Where in the fuck is she?_

Elaine has yet to return to the bar and with an update since resurfacing from the employees' area. She's obviously avoiding me.

 _I wonder what Miss Steele told her._

My lifestyle is classified. Anyone that I deal with who has any knowledge of my sexual preferences has signed an NDA that I have issued. Miss Steele has yet to do so. And now because of Elena's recklessness, no telling who Miss Steele has made aware of this private bit of information.

 _Shit!_

After the commotion Miss Steele and I caused back in Private Row, I no longer see an interim deal involving Zion for two nights a week working. _In fact, I don't want her working here_ _ **at all**_ – I say to myself, as I frown at the sight of Dawson Jacobs, who's now looking deeply concerned as Elaine speaks something to him as soon as she re-approaches him. He then says something back to her.

He's probably asking her about London.

 _How long has he been here?  
Why doesn't he just fucking leave?  
He's already had dessert. _

"Sweetness," I harken the bartender from across the bar. Quickly, she heeds the call and comes dashing my way.

"Mr. Grey?"

"Why is he still here," I say quietly, gesturing my head over in Jacobs' direction. "Are he and I waiting on the same thing?"

Sweetness starts nervous-ing and clears her throat. "London was serving him before she encountered the lady sitting here at the bar," she tells me. "Then she runs off the floor and doesn't come back."

"I see," I say, rolling my tongue in my mouth. I carefully side her over a one-hundred-dollar bill and she quickly snatches it up.

 _I told her that I didn't want her serving anymore.  
Especially not him._

"Mr. Grey, I appreciate you helping me out during a very difficult financial time," she says in the sincerest voice. "Can I get you another scotch?"

"No," I tell her. "Just water. And Miss London."

Before she can respond, the Black Eyed Peas ditty piping through the surrounding speakers abruptly stops at an awkward spot instead of fading away as these songs normally do. I look all around and even the girls with clients stop dancing in their tracks. They're just as confused as I am. I even catch a startled Elaine across the room as she stalls mid-step.

"What happened?" Sweetness squawks out loud to no one in particular. There's just an overall strange vibe. Suddenly, an eerie feeling comes over me.  
 _I hate being in an environment that I can't control._

Out of nowhere, a commanding male voice belts out _"Take it back"_ , and it echoes throughout the entire club at a pitch much louder than the previous string of songs. I see everyone jerking backwards in shock. The base drum hits, quieting the entire bar. As I scan the room again, Elaine and her colleagues working the floor continue to be at a complete loss.

"What's going on?" I hear someone nearby say.

"Is this a new show that they're putting on?" another says.

 _Oh no._

I swivel my chair towards the stage and yes, it's still as dark as it has always been. But as soon as Nelly Furtado's voice orders everyone to look at her, a spotlight shoots out at the once dark stage. I nearly have a heart attack when my eyes immediately make out the beautiful girl in the black fringe dress and strapped gold heels in a commanding stance.

 _Miss Steele…what in the fuck are you doing?!_

The song is now in full swing and Anastasia Steele is on stage, front and center. She provocatively sways her hips from side to side and drops suddenly to the floor, rolling around seductively to the hypnotizing beat. I'm furious but mesmerized at the same fucking time. It's grating.

 _This girl makes me feel so many different terrible things at once._

Miss Steele works her arms and legs as they fan the floor in true craftsmanship. It's beautiful and arresting. I've never seen her move in this way before. When she lifts her waist from the floor and teases the audience with a booty-shake, I immediately remember that I'm not the only one in the room. The catcalls soon begin.

"Good lord!"

"Who's _that_?"

"I've never seen her dance here before. Is she new?"

" _Whoa_ , mama!"

"Hey! That's London! The server girl! She dances too?! Holy _shit_! She's fantastic!"

My blood switches from warm to boiling at a record pace. I am now seething as I watch Miss Steele jackknife up from a downward dog stance and whip her hair and body like a fucking maniac. She prances in time to the beat in a commanding cadence from center stage, right to the edge of it. Pretty soon, a swarm of horny men crowd the stage and begin pelting it with cash.

 _What the fuck!_

 _I'll kill them all!_

My legs have a mind of their own as I find myself standing on my feet, readying myself to rush that stage and snatch her down from it.

 _You're breaking all of the rules, Miss Steele.  
You weren't supposed to dance for anyone else. _

But before I can move a muscle, a handful of bouncers rush up front and start to order the men to sit back down. And I hope beyond hope that they turn off this wretched song and stop Miss Steele from dancing, but to my dismay, they fucking allow the shit-show to continue. I am livid.

She soon drops into a squat and rocks her body up and down from left to right, and the entire audience goes wild, making the already vampy song even more so. She's doesn't have a care in the world as she's dances with a purpose. And when her eyes scan to the back of the room by the bar and suddenly find me, I know exactly what that purpose is, as she refuses to cower under my enraged gaze.

 _So,_ _ **this**_ _is the game.  
She's doing this to get back at me._

Her eyes soon break away from me as she stands back erect, hypnotizing everyone one with her snapping hips as she grits her teeth in the process like a true _maneater_ would. My hands are clenched so hard at my sides that I essentially stop the flow of blood there.

 _I am going to punish you good, girl._

She spins, she pops out her ass and smoothes her hands seductively up her legs. Her body, doing things that she has never even showed the likes of me…the one who's been paying her a shit ton of money to dance for _only me_ in private. When she wiggles her body forward on the floor like a snake and then humps her pelvis on the floor, once again, I am about to leap across that stage and pull her from it.

 _Fuck! Why is she doing this!_

I'd still be losing my mind if she did this very dance earlier, when it was just her and I in the VIP room. But no, she's doing this overtly sexual, heart-crushing dance for all to see.

 _Calm down, Grey.  
It's almost over._

I gradually resolve to myself that once this song ends…I will make her talk to me. Then I will convince her to quit this fucking shithole club and only dance for only me from here on out.

And then I will spank the shit out of her for making me feel so angry, so… _helpless_.

As she drops down to the floor for another set of seductive floor sweeps with her entire body, I spy her matching black panties, and my blood pressure goes right through the roof. I can feel the very heat radiating from my face like an Arizona hot summer day.

 _I don't remember ever feeling this…this_ _ **angry**_ _._

Again, she throws herself into another downward dog stance and springs upward. Then she leaps down from the stage, nearly giving me a heart attack.

 _Oh god.  
Please.  
Don't._

Dancing past lustful eyes and salivating mouths, she makes her way to the right and rear of the floor. My heart palpitates in extreme terror.

 _Don't you dare, Miss Steele.  
You'll regret it. _

And to my complete and utter horror, she's heads right in the direction of Dawson Jacobs. The look of sheer delight plastered on that motherfucker's face is enough to set me in motion. As soon as I start to move, and Miss Steele immediately pounces on his lap and starts to grind on him.

 _This bullshit ends_ _ **NOW**_ _._

The entire floor erupts in a frenzy, and my march immediately morphs into a sprint. Before Jacobs can wrap his grubby arms around Miss Steele, I snatch her out of his lap and hoist her over my shoulder. I immediately begin to take her towards the area of Private Row.

"Put me down!" she screams, pounding her fists into my back. I barely feel it.

 _I don't give a fuck.  
_ I am being fueled by pure rage.

Watching her straddle another man right in front of me completely set me off.

 _What in the fuck's wrong with her?  
Dreadful woman. _

"Put me down!" she yells again, as the music comes to an end. The crowd is yelling many _not-so-nice things_ at me for bringing an abrupt end to their entertainment.

 _Fuck them all._

Soon, the same big burley bouncers that rushed the stage before come swarming towards me, and I immediately place Miss Steele on her feet so that she doesn't get hurt in the shuffle. I shove her behind me as they close in. I am prepared to defend myself if I must.

 _Yeah, they're about to throw my ass out.  
I just hope Taylor's outside to catch me when they do._

Soon, I see a wild brown mane and a black tasseled dress step in front of me. Miss Steele stretches both arms out between me and the men attempting to put their hands on me.

" _Stop_!" she cries out. I gape at her.

"Please don't touch him. Not _yet_ , anyway," she says, saying the last part under her breath.

Reluctantly, the men begin to part to make way for Miss Steele to walk through, and she gestures me with her head to follow. Still pumping with adrenalin, I am breathing harshly as we cross the threshold that leads into Private Row.

….

When the door of the VIP closes, her look of animosity rivals mine.

"Why in the fuck did you do that!" I scream at her.

"Are you ready to talk _now_?" she snaps back.

 _No, I am ready to spank the living shit out of you._

As I lock in on her stern blue eyes, pure raw emotion courses my veins. It's a dichotomy of dispositions that I have never experienced until _she_ came along.

There's nothing that I can think to do but grab her harshly and kiss her wildly, so I do. She resists at first, but soon gives in. I push her back against the door as my mouth and tongue greedily possesses her. A moan escapes her throat. And then it hits me…

 _This resolves_ _ **nothing**_ _._

She had the fucking nerve to prance out there on that godforsaken stage and dance like a fiend in front of all those men. And then she decided that it was a _good idea_ to give Dawson Jacobs a private show…in _public_.

Seething in anger at the thought, I snatch myself away from her and frantically pace the room.

"What in the hell is wrong with you!" she cries out. "Why do you act so fucking jealous, yet you keep all of these secrets locked up?!"

Her quivering voice causes me to stop in my tracks almost at the other end of the room, but my back still faces her.

"The girl…the one you ended things with back home. Was it Elena Lincoln?" she says in a quiet, shaky voice.

"No," I finally say.

I hear her sigh in relief.

"Why did you end it with that girl?" she asks.

I take in a jagged breath. "She was my submissive," I say, coming clean. "I ended our contract. I didn't think it was fair to be thinking about another woman while she and I still had an arrangement."

"Oh my god," she gasps. "You had an _arrangement_ with her?"

I spin on my heel and finally face her. The same exact look of terror and horror that I imagined that would be on her face, that same look I always see in my mind whenever I think about telling her who I really am is very present. I practically shudder.

"Yes," I push out. " _All_ of my submissives sign contracts."

She scoffs. "So, what the Elena lady said is true? You're into BDSM?"

I nod. "I'm a dom."

"What does that even mean?" she asks with a pained gaze. "And what does that mean for us? I mean…I _can't_ do all of that hardcore stuff. You know… _whips_ and _chains_ and shit."

Oh Miss Steele, you didn't believe that you could dance, but look at you now.  
You're practically the most beautiful dancer on the planet.

 _You had everyone in awe out there, against my wishes of course._

I close the gap between us and cradle her chin. She drops her head deeper into the caress.

"I sincerely hope that you consider entering into a modified agreement with me," I mutter.

Immediately, her beautiful skin turns snow white.

* * *

ANA

Feeling queasy, I carefully take a seat on the sofa. Grey follows suit.

I've never even had sex before and he's obviously into some very wild shit.  
If I was ever intimidated about losing my virginity to this man before, the nerves surging in my gut now is completely off the charts.

I feel like a preschooler who hasn't even learned how to ride a bicycle without training wheels, yet I'm tossed into the driver's seat of an eighteen-wheeled tractor trailer during rush hour traffic on a freeway. It's a daunting situation, to say the very least.

"No matter what you decide, you're going to have to leave this club right away. Your foolish public display has propelled you into the spotlight," he hisses.

All of a sudden, the earlier effects of the tequila slowly wither away.

 _He's right.  
Hell…what did I just do?_

My dig my elbows into my thighs and collapse my face into my propped-up palms. I'm completely in a daze.

"I need the money. I just bought a new car," I say, muffled.

"Look, here's what I'll do…"

I look up and watch him reach into his front pocket. All of a sudden, he places a card on the coffee table next to where the previous occupant's opened champagne sits. I stare at the card until I make out that it's a room key at The Heathman. My eyes grow round and wide.

"I'm actually here on business for the week. I'm staying in executive suite. I'll give you four days to decide. Quit Zion and meet me Friday at eight, just around the same time you'd normally meet me in here for a dance. If you don't show up by 8:10, then I know that you have refused my offer."

His sudden _take-it-or-leave-it_ offer sends me into a stupor.

" _Uhhh_ …"

"You've completely tied my hands, Miss Steele. I'm a very selfish man. And now that you've put all of your goodies out on public display…"

"I did no such thing," I snap, cutting him off.

"You _did_ ," he says, none-too-pleased. "If you saw what the rest of us saw, you wouldn't be arguing with me."

I clear my throat. "What happens if I don't show up? Will you ever come back here?"

"No. Tonight is my last night coming here. You saw to that," he scowls. "Besides, I only come here to see you. If you don't take my offer, then there's no other reason for me being here." My heart drops.

I still have so many questions that he hasn't answered, and we haven't even scratched the surface, yet he's giving me some sordid ultimatum? I should tell him to go fuck himself, but I'd be kissing my college tuition goodbye.

 _And him._

I watch as he reaches over for the remote and flips on the music. All of a sudden, the dulcet tones of Donna Summer fill the room. This is obviously some other dancer's session music cued up, yet Mr. Grey and I hijack the room. When Donna starts to moan how much she _loves to love him_ , I feel a cross between extreme discomfort and sweet inspiration.

I stand, walk over four steps, and straddle his lap. I thoroughly expect him to push me off of him, but his anger from earlier slowly wanes as I begin dancing on top of him, freefalling to the rhythm. This man, this _insanely hot_ man with a horrible temper and a creepy sex habit makes me feel so many things.

"So," he whispers underneath the music. "This just might be my last dance with you if you say ' _no_ ' to my offer, which I hope doesn't happen. Therefore, you'll have to make this a good one."

My heart skips a beat at the mere thought of this being the last time that I get to dance for him like this. Yet, the rest of me remains captive to the song as I continue to ride the soundwave on his lap. His hands slowly make their way around my waist until he's gripping me firmly. My breathing slowly elevates as my hip-stirring intensifies, and I catch a glimpse of passion in his eyes.

"This was only supposed to belong to me," he growls. "But you decided to share it out in the open."

"I was mad at you," I gasp as his hands rise up my stomach and to my breasts, where he grabs hold of both of them.

"Were you?" he groans.

" _Mm hmm_."

I continue my dance and soon my hands reach out all on their own for his chest, but he intercepts them and quickly binds my arms behind my back. He then forces his mouth on mine.

I fall captive to his kiss as he consumes me like a lion. And as I realize that I am completely trapped and unable to move, I remember exactly who he is.

I lean back, breaking away from his kiss.

"Please, Anastasia," he begs. My very name on his lips is like a sweet litany. "I hope you agree to my offer."

I am utterly speechless. My reluctance stuns him.

 _Tell him!_

"Mr. Grey… _I_ …"

I can't get even the word out. I push, and push, and push.  
Then suddenly, it spills.

" _I'm_. I'm a virgin."

He's wholly stunned, just as I suspected he would. Suddenly, my arms are loosed from behind me, and I bring them over to my sides. The expression on his face surpasses disbelief. Seconds go by…maybe even a minute. He remains stupefied, saying nothing. Eventually, I slide out of his lap and back on the sofa.

"Look, I'm _pretty sure_ you don't want to dole out five grand to some lame girl who's never even had sex before," I say with a shaky voice.

After some deep thought, he turns to look at me.

"I apologize for my cold reaction. I just thought that _um_ …maybe you would've had sex already? I mean, you work _here_."

My face contorts at his prejudiced statement. "We don't have sex with the clients, Mr. Grey," I say, narrowing my eyes at him. "Well…at least we're not supposed to."

He clears his throat. "I understand that, but this is a very sexual place. I just thought. _Well_ …I mean look at you. You're so goddamn beautiful. No one has tried to fuck you yet?"

 _Well_ _ **yes**_ _, but not here, asshole!_

 _Then again,_ _ **you**_ _were the one here trying to put together some fuck-contract until I revealed the news about my untapped womanhood._

I am beyond disturbed by his choice of words, and I can tell that he immediately regrets saying them when he takes one good look at my reaction.

"I'm sorry," he utters.

"No…it's fine. _I just_ …I just never found myself with anyone that I'd wanted to…"

"You don't have to explain anything me," he interrupts.  
I see nothing but empathy in his eyes.

Or maybe it's _guilt_.

 _Yeah, he doesn't want me anymore.  
I'm too…untouched for him. _

This man obviously wants a woman who knows exactly what she likes and how to give him what _he_ likes. The very thought is disheartening.

"I'm sorry," I sigh. "I guess you want to take your offer back." I reach over and pick up the keycard to hand it back to him. He takes it in his hands and looks down at it, lost.

"I guess I'll just stick to dancing…and maybe serving," I murmur out loud to myself.

I truly feel rejected, but the second I say those words, his expression hardens.

"Now you _really_ don't need to be working here," he scolds. "Look, maybe you can _um_ …still come by and dance for me Friday night. No sex… _okay_?" he says in sincere compromise. He places the keycard on the sofa right between us.

"But I don't know about taking five grand from you if you're not getting everything you want," I counter.

"My original deal wasn't for sex," he snaps. "I told you, I don't pay for sex. I wanted you to quit your job as a server. I only wanted you to dance for me."

"That's all? Just a dance?" I sigh in disbelief.

"Yes. Besides, you're much too pure for this place, Anastasia. You don't belong here."

He ignores my maniacal chuckle.

 _Too pure for this place.  
What a condescending ass. _

"Tell me, how much do you owe for the current semester?" he asks

I sit there, quiet.

 _I need this conversation to end.  
I'm getting mighty frustrated, and so is he._

"How much?" he says, pushing me to answer him.

"About eight thousand," I mutter, "since I had to take out money to buy a new car."

"I'll cover the rest of the semester tomorrow. That way, you'll be able to register for the spring. How does that sound?" he asks.

 _Is this man serious?_

"Uh… _wow_ …Mr. Grey…I _don't_ …"

"Look, I know that this might seem a little strange to you, but I thoroughly enjoy your company. You know…when we're not arguing and all," he says with a furrowed brow. "Hopefully you enjoy mine."

 _Whoa._

"Actually, I do," I say earnestly. For the first time, I catch a glimmer of a smile forming across his lips.

"Good," he says. "So, you get something out of this as well. There's no need for you to keep working here. You can focus on school and graduate with honors and eventually move to Seattle with your roommate like you talked about."

"I haven't decided if I'm moving to Seattle with Kate," I say abruptly. And instead of pushing back, he simply shrugs his shoulders.

 _That's right. He doesn't care where the virgin lives after she graduates._

The thought is unsettling.

Yet he still wants me to quit my job, and he will fork over my tuition if I continue to dance for him. And now that he knows that I'm a virgin, a dance is all that he truly wants.

Hey, maybe this is a good thing that sex is completely off the table; it makes things less complicated. It won't be as bawdy taking his money if there's nothing else going on between us other than just dancing.

 _But what if I still want to have sex with_ _ **him**_ _?_

* * *

 ** _A/N: Faithful readers – Thank you so much for your continual love and support of my efforts here. It means more to me than you know. I have two announcements before I tease the next chapter._**

 ** _First thing's first – Sundays work better for me when it comes to updating. Since I do most of my writing on Saturday, my pre-reader needs ample time to review before I post. Therefore, Sundays will be the new official day for updating APD._**

 ** _Secondly, I plan on taking a break next week. Yeah, I know. :( These past few weeks have been a very crazy time for me at both work and at home. I've been overwhelmed and haven't really had time to read a book and truly enjoy myself in quite a while. Therefore, I will be taking a break next week from updating. Next weekend, I hope to be able to sit back, relax, and do some reading of my own like many of you. To write a story like this one, I have to always be on, and I would like to finally turn myself off for the next seven days. I hope you understand. I know that after this brief break, I'll be able to come back better, so it's for both my benefit and yours._**

 ** _Two weeks from now, I'll pick up at chapter 10. Here's what we can expect:_**

 ** _Ana quits Zion, and Dark quickly tries to convince her and her number one client to return.  
Christian calls Elena and lays down the law.  
Ana reaches out to Joy in order to explore unchartered territory.  
And finally, Ana uses that key. ;) _**

**_Much love. – ST2_**


	10. Chapter 10 - Incineration

**Chapter 10** **–** **Incineration**

CHRISTIAN

Whether or not I got a single wink of sleep last night after arriving in my suite at The Heathman, I couldn't say. And if I did catch a brief moment of shut-eye, it sure as hell didn't feel like it. For the past eight hours, my brain hasn't shut off.

My mood has run the gamut from pissed, to irritated, to downright confused. On top of essentially grinding my teeth down to sand while recalling the mindless display that Miss Steele put on before the entire club, I received yet one more shock to my system in the form of a startling confession.

 _A virgin?_

I replay the befuddling revelation over and over again, and still – it does not compute.

 _But the way that her sexy hips wave to the rhythm…  
The way she rides the beat on my lap…_

None of this shit can be explained, yet I need an explanation. It's beyond difficult to comprehend that such a gorgeous, irresistible girl has never, _ever_ been touched by a man before.

And then realization hits.

 _Oh shit – I've already made her come so many times…usually after she's danced for me._

She's had an orgasm before – surely. Oh, words can't adequately describe how heavenly she looks when she climaxes. It's something that I wouldn't mind seeing her do over and over again. So far, I've only touched her with my hands. There's so much more to explore with this beautiful girl. She has so much further to go in order to reach the level that I'd hoped to get her to by the time she graduates college. Now, it appears that my hope of grooming her as such has gone down the drain.

Even if she does take up my offer to dance for me on Friday in my hotel suite, that's all that it could ever be. I wouldn't dare touch her knowing what I now know.

 _She's as pure as the driven snow._

You don't know how many times I've wished – hoped, even – for Miss Steele's plea of virginity to be pure fable. However, reality tells me that one wouldn't lie about such things.

Fuck. I can't shake this girl, no matter how hard I try. It's as if she's traversing my veins. My blood pressure rises whenever I recall her moving that gorgeous body on the stage for all to see to _Maneater_ , yet my veins cool whenever I think about her gaze dropping to the floor after her reveal in the VIP room. There's no doubt that she felt ashamed before me for being unsullied. Just the very thought of her disappointed reaction to my alarm pricks my very core.

 _How can one girl evoke so much emotion?_

I sit in the backseat of my Portland-plated car as Taylor takes me to my brand-new satellite office at SNA Corp. I plan on meeting with Tyler Bergen to talk about innovative strategies that can be merged with some initiatives that my IT guys, Fred and Barney are working on. I also hope to spend time with Brian Gibbs, the current VP of sales to see if he's still on board now that his longtime boss, Neumann is no longer running the show.

Speaking of the thundercunt, I've already taken the liberty to redo his entire office. All of his gaudy _Mad Men_ -styled furniture, gone. Although the space is fairly sizable, it's still about a fourth of the size of my office at Grey House. In spite of this fact, I had the office redesigned to mimic the style of my home office. I chose this route because I had every intent of working from Portland at least twice a week.

 _Miss Steele ruined that._

After dancing in public, there's no way in hell that she can remain working at Zion. And if she does decide to use that key I left her this coming Friday, it may be the last time I see her. As much as I love to watch her dance, there's no way that I can be all alone with her and not dream of fucking this girl every which way but loose.

Nights on end, I've dreamt of suspending her in my rafters far above me in my playroom after spending hours intricately roping her naked body in Shibari, with her arms laced behind her back.

 _Fuck, Grey.  
What are you thinking?_

My sane mind knows that she's a virgin and wouldn't touch her with a ten-foot pole, yet my cock could give a fuck. Amidst my torturous internal battle, my Blackberry chimes. I retrieve it and view the screen.

 _Fucking Jay Dark.  
What in the hell does he want?_

Not in the best of moods, I pick up anyway.

"Grey," I announce tersely.

"Mr. Grey," he says in his usual gruff voice. "Good morning. Jay Dark. I hope I didn't catch you at a bad time." And I idly wonder why the slime ball who runs a twenty-four-hour operation, among many other businesses, is phoning me so damned early.

"I'm on my way to the office. What can I do for you?" I say in a tone that's not necessarily as inviting as the words I speak.

"I am calling to apologize about the commotion last night with my security team. As I understand it, London was able to reel them in due to a minor misunderstanding."

I frown at the phone.  
 _Minor misunderstanding?_

I literally put hands on one of his employees and pretty much removed her from the premises against her will. Whether or not I liked it, security was just doing their job. Dark's ' _apology'_ falls on deaf ears

"I truly appreciate your patronage to Zion, and if there's anything that I can do to make up for what happened, please feel free to let me know."

Suddenly a spark of contrivance hits me.

"Well, there is one thing," I say, slowly stroking my clean-shaven chin.

"Anything. You name it," Dark says without hesitation.

"Fire Miss London. _Today_." I don't even bat an eye when I make the demand.

"Except _that_ ," he gruffs just as quickly.

When I perk up just a bit, I'm certain that it's not because of the to-go coffee that I've been drinking. I don't want Miss Steele working at Dark's establishment anymore, yet it appears that Mr. Dark isn't in agreement.

"You don't think that a server masquerading as a dancer disrupting your operation in front of your entire club is grounds for termination?" I utter condescendingly.

"If it were any of my other servers, hell yes," says in his gravelly tone. "But I watched the tape and London danced circles around my best talent. She even has me thinking about a showcase strategy where all of the other talent takes a break while one of the girls is spotlighted on stage. I spent a mint on that stage and finally London puts it to good use."

 _Why you son of a bitch._

Rage tries its hardest to surge through me and take over, but I struggle to rein it in.

"The deal we made last month required that Miss London danced for me and me alone," I unkindly remind him.

Dark takes a calculated pause and I hear a sizable puff of breath on the other end.

"For the past ten hours, my phone has been ringing non-stop. Longtime clients who have never so much as requested a dance behind closed doors are now demanding London. They are willing to pay double…even triple," he says.

 _What. The. Fuck._

Suddenly, my chest constricts, and I am ready to pounce like a lion.

"You're a business man," he patronizes like the prick that he is. "You tell me, what would _you_ do if you were in my shoes?"

"What do you want for her?" I say impatiently. "I'm willing to buy her out of her contract so you can terminate her."

I swear I hear the asshole chuckle subtly. Or maybe the overweight fuck is just choking on his own overproduced saliva. "My employees can't be bought," he says staunchly after a beat. "However, if you still want to schedule a dance with London, I highly encourage you to book your time with her early and as far out as possible since I have _many_ requests pouring in for her. She is by far Zion's hottest attraction to date."

Before I can ram a hole through the back window with my clenched fist, I snuff out my raging fire with a cloak of restraint. It's a superpower that I've developed after many years of strategizing before going in for the kill. As a rule of thumb, I never want my enemy to see me sweat.

 _What I need to do is get this asshole off the line and run interference ASAP._

"I hadn't planned on returning to Zion," I tell him point blank. It's the truth. But what he doesn't know is that I'm taking a certain someone with me, whether he likes it or not.

"Mr. Grey – _really_ , I'm terribly sorry that last night put a damper on your experience at Zion. But as many witnessed yesterday, you had solitary access to a diamond in the rough. London was truly worth every penny you paid. Are you sure you want to miss out on that?"

If Jay Dark were in my presence at this moment, I'd place both my palms on his skull and crush it. He is the fucking scum of the earth.

"Like I said," I hiss through gritted teeth, "I will _not_ be returning. Goodbye, Mr. Dark."

I hang up, beyond tired of his bullshit. I need to get moving before Miss Steele decides to happily stroll into work today under the assumption that that she's serving, even though I'd told her last night that there's absolutely no turning back after what she did. Dark immediately calls me back, but I push his call directly to voicemail. I then activate the program that Barney designed for me that blacklists specific pesky callers, and I add Dark to the list. I normally don't answer calls from phone numbers I don't recognize, so if Dark wants to try calling me from different numbers, he'll be in for a rude awakening.

By the time Taylor pulls up to SNA Corp, I've instructed Welch to put a trace on Miss Steele's phone. I need to keep track of her whereabouts to ensure that she doesn't step one foot in Zion after the foolish stunt that she pulled.

….

Throughout the day, I check the tracer site on my laptop and watch the little red dot as it roams all over WSU Vancouver. By eleven, Taylor is whisking me away to the helipad ten miles away to take a short trip home. There's one meeting at Grey House that I couldn't postpone since my entire management team are finally in one place for a change. Our meeting ends at two and then I set off to meet Elena for a late lunch.

In spite of me not having a bite to eat since six thirty this morning, I'm certain there won't be much eating at this restaurant. I had Andrea set the whole thing up and didn't even bother to talk to Elena or return her calls. She knows good and goddamn well what this meeting is all about. She did what she did in order to get my attention.

 _Kudos, Elena.  
Your plan worked. _

_But at what cost?_

After a very productive meeting back in my Seattle executive conference room, Taylor and I hightail it to Wataru, a sushi place. Elena's already there when I arrive fifteen minutes early. She's sitting at a table that seats two and is looking rather nonchalant. When I'm spotted, she stands to great me.

"Christian," she purrs in that way she always does. She sticks out her chin, expecting me to kiss her on both sides. Instead, I take the seat opposite her without so much as touching her. Elena's taken aback but then quickly composes herself and reclaims her seat.

"After weeks and weeks of trying, we connect… _finally_ ," she smirks.

Before I can verbalize my ire for this woman who has claimed to be my friend for many years, our waitress suddenly appears.

"Good afternoon. Would you like something to drink?"

I point to the water glass before me. "This will do," I say coolly. Taking the hint, she leaves us.

"Whoa Christian," Elena practically snorts. "I'd just assumed that she'd be your type since you've fancied those in her profession fairly recently.

"Cut the shit, Elena," I snap.

"Look," she says before taking in a calculated breath. "You're probably wondering how I found your little _friend_ ," she says the last work with disdain. "I so happened to reach out to Stefan Neumann, who's not very happy with you these days," she digs.

 _That motherfucker.  
I'll kill him._

"He didn't hesitate to tell me that this London girl, the one who you insisted Madison be called during a scene, is a server at Zion, an exclusive gentlemen's club. My god Christian…you ordered your sub to be called by another girl's name during a _scene_? Come on," she puffs out in severe disapproval, as if she's just hearing the news for the first time.

 _Yeah, yeah_ – I must admit, that wasn't the smartest thing that I've ever come up with. Still, Madison and her mammoth mouth can forget that future community reference. She obviously thinks that Elena Lincoln is excluded from the NDA that she signed with me many months ago.

"Christian, I must say…that club is rather _tame_. I have no idea why you'd find that place alluring at all. And that London character? _Geez_. There's not much special about her. She's just a little girl," she scolds.

I lose it.

" _What_?!" Immediately, I see eyes from all over the restaurant staring at our table. Still, Elena is not phased.

"She's a little girl that has much growing up to do. I'd bet she wouldn't dare let a gingerroot get anywhere near that tight ass of hers."

" _Elena_ …" I say her name in warning.

"She's not for you," she insists. "She's just a struggling waitress. She's only after your money."

"You don't know what the fuck you're talking about," I growl as quietly, yet threatening as I possibly can.

"Don't you have to pay her every time you see her?" she asks.

I say nothing. Instead, I sit there glaring at her.

"Answer me, Christian," she says, unwavering – and it's reminiscent of our dynamic that ended over a half decade ago. But what Elena doesn't understand is that I am not that same kid I was when she first introduced me to this twisted world of relief and escape. At fifteen, I was in search of something, and I found it in her.

But times have surely changed.

"That's exactly what I thought," she says, breaking the silence. "She's using you, Christian. Madison will absolutely take you back. In fact, I spoke with her last night. Why don't you give her a call?"

I'm simmering in my skin.  
"Elena…"

"And if you don't want her, we'll find you someone else who's more suitable for your needs."

"Elena, _no_ ," I say point blank.

She gasps in shock. " _Wait_ …you still want this girl? The very same girl that will give any man what he wants, only if he convinces her with cash? She's a damn waitress, Christian. She's no _dancer_."

"She's not a waitress anymore," I seethe. "Not after the stunt you pulled. She's now being forced to dance for the entire club against her will."

"I don't ever recall telling her to do _anything_ against her will. I only told her that she had no business filling up your head with falsehoods."

I have no fucking idea where she gets off thinking that someone's been _filling up my head_ , but I don't even care to entertain the topic any further. I'm just here to put my fucking foot down and demand that Elena leave Miss Steele the hell alone.

"You upset her, so she set out to upset _me_ by dancing in front of the entire club. Now everyone knows how good of a dancer she is," I say with spite.

She gapes in surprise. "Oh, _really_?"

"Yeah, _really_ ," I snap, fucking unamused by her antics.

"Well, that's _that_ , I guess. So, let's talk about this other prospect for you…" she starts, moving ahead in my stead. I immediately pump the brakes.

"I already have a contract with Anastasia." The statement is true, although I didn't have the opportunity to present it to her before Elena stuck her brand-new nose where it didn't belong.

"Excuse me?" she frowns. "Who is _Anastasia_?"

"It's London's real name. She and I have a pending weekend agreement."

Again, it's not the whole truth. I won't be fucking this girl after all, but I still plan to have her dance for me this Friday. Elena doesn't need to know the particulars, I just want to her to butt the hell out of my life.

"So, you're fucking her now?" she inquires with wide eyes.

"Not that it's any of your business…."

"Has she even done a scene before?" she interrupts.

" _Elena_ …"

"Okay, okay…I know. It's none of my goddamn business."

"Finally," I sigh. "You get it."

"Is this a vanilla thing that you have going on?"

I sigh, rolling my eyes hard. "Didn't I just say that it's none of your business?"

She sighs right back. "Actually, I said it, but _yes_ …I get it."

"I'm not asking you to agree with my choices…I'm only asking you to stay out of my private life. You're to never… _ever_ to get in contact with Anastasia. Am I making myself clear?"

My command causes her to blink in surprise. She's not used to hearing me speak to her in this way. Elena only has herself to blame for this shitty outcome. If she wants to do shitty things behind my back, I will treat her like shit.

"Do you hear me?" I sound out. "Do you fucking understand me? If you ever talk to her again, you'll regret it."

"Is that a _threat_ , Christian?" she says, astounded by my directness.

"No, Elena," I snap back. "It's a _promise_."

* * *

ANA

I feel like a zombie as I tread towards the next building in between classes. I couldn't tell you a single word that was uttered during the last lecture. My thoughts were obviously elsewhere.

I don't know if I can even face anyone at Zion today. I'm set to work the floor at seven, even though Mr. Grey gave me his room key and told me to quit my job. Well, I'm certain that was before I blurted out that news about me being a virgin while dancing on his lap.

 _That certainly changed his tune._

The second that moment from last night comes flooding back into my thoughts, I cringe.

 _Smooth, Steele.  
Real smooth. _

But reality sets in and tells me that there was no other way to tell him the _honest to god_ truth. His expectations surpassed my experience, so he had to know who he was truly dealing with.

The look he had in his eyes when he was pleading with me to take his offer and meet him at his hotel room in Portland this Friday…it nearly singed the tiny little hairs from my arms. His gaze was incinerating. But the words _'I'm a virgin'_ poured buckets of water all over him, I'm sure. He didn't have the same demeanor when he left the VIP room. At least the anger he carried in with him injected some semblance of life in him. By the end of the night, his expression was more a mixture of disappointment and confusion. I can't put my figure on exactly which one it was.

I'm just under five hundred meters away from my next building when I hear my phone chirping in my purse. Yes, it's a bird's call. I haven't figured how to change my ringtone. I absolutely hate this phone.

"Hello?"

" _Lon_ …I mean, Ana?"

 _Shit, it's L-Mo._ I immediately clam up. I know that I'm in deep shit for the stunt I pulled last night.

"Uh, yes. It's me."

"It's Lauren from work. Did I catch you at a bad time?"

 _Oh, so she's Lauren today._

" _Sh_ …sure," I stammer. "I mean, _no_ …this is a good time."  
 _Steele, settle down._

I locate a large tree nearby, walk over to it, and lean up against it.

"Let me cut right to the chase," she says in the most unreadable tone. "How soon can you come in to work tonight? We need you to sign new paperwork as well as move your locker across the hall."

I gasp. "Across the hall?"  
 _New paperwork?  
_ She says it as if it's something routine. This sounds anything _but_.

"Yes…where the talent is, my sweet dove," she croons. And now there appears to be some sign of life in her. She sounds… _proud_? Her sudden change of tone takes me aback. "We'd also like to get your measurements and set you up with a custom wardrobe. Starting today, you are Zion's premier act. You absolutely killed last night, my dear. In fact, Shaun and team were able to gather up all of your tips from the stage last night. Your bag was quite impressive."

 _Premier act?  
Holy shit._

" _Uhhh_ …" I shake out.

"And we just hired a pole dancing expert to train you on how to be a pole artist starting this Thursday. Pole acrobatics is not BD's expertise, but we'd still like you to work with her on the normal stuff. If she gives you any flack about not getting paid, please send her my way and I'll make sure she's good."

"L-Mo," I breathe, trying my hardest not to shake in anxiety. "Thank you, but I'd rather keep working as a server, if you don't mind."

She chuckles. "Honey, do you know how much cash you'll take home every night as a dancer? You'd be crazy to keep serving. You're much too talented of a dancer for that."

"But last night was a mistake." The words just come rushing out of me like a tide. "I was only supposed to be dancing for Mr. Grey. You told me that I didn't have to dance for anyone else _but_ him."

"And then everyone saw you," she speaks almost with a lioness' purr. "You can't expect to walk the floor anymore and not piss our clients off. They want to see London on that stage. They want her in Private Row – a VP over at Nike, Mr. Jacobs, the mayor…"

 _Holy fucking shit! The mayor was there yesterday?!_

My eyes grow as wide as saucers.

 _"_ _You're going to have to leave this club right away.  
Your foolish public display has propelled you into the spotlight."_

Mr. Grey's scolding words from last night return with a vengeance to haunt me. I'm literally shaking in my chucks right now.

"If you're good enough for Christian Grey, you're good enough for everyone else who patronizes Zion. Their cash is just as good as his," Lauren smarts.

"I can't," I tremble. "I'm so sorry. I won't be coming back there."

"Excuse me?" L-Mo says in the most ominous voice.

"I can't dance in public. I'm sorry," I parrot my apology.

"Girl, you'd be walking away from a _lot_ of money," she says in almost a threatening tone. "You wouldn't even be able to earn a fourth of what you make as a server working someplace like _Fred Meyer_ ," she utters with disgust. "Without a college degree, they'd be the only ones who'd hire you right now. And didn't you say that you needed the college tuition? Has that now changed?"

But _Big Red_ seems to forget that I made sizable tips over the past month dancing for their top client. If I visit Mr. Grey this Friday at his hotel, he'll cover the remainder of my fall tuition. And if I play my cards right, he might even cover spring.

Yeah, I'd rather take my chances with Grey than with the likes of L-Mo and her creepy ass boyfriend. _The creepy ass boyfriend who so happens to be Sasha House's loser dad._

Hell, I didn't even want to be at Zion in the first fucking place, much less become a dancer. Ironically, Mr. Grey didn't want to come there as a patron either but was forced to by Mr. Neumann. And there we were, the only two people in that warehouse who really didn't want to be there. As he gradually came out of his element, Mr. Grey decided to take me out of mine. And it was the best thing that had ever happened to me.

It was then when I discovered my new passion. Christian Grey took a non-dancer and helped me to discover what was within. And _that_ has no price.

L-Mo and Jay Dark can both kiss my lily-white ass.

"I have something in the works, so I'll be fine. I'll have one of the girls to fetch my things out of my locker," I say after locating my inner strength.

I am perfectly fine with walking away from the barracudas and all the mess that comes with pleasing their mostly unseen faces that camp out in their offices and count the loads of money brought in literally by the sweat of countless young women. These assholes don't care how much they bend the girls to do more, as long as their pockets continue to be lined.

I can't help but think about how L-Mo assured me that I wouldn't have to do anything that I didn't want to do, yet this bitch tried to stick me in the VIP room with the creepiest asshole in the club. Starla and Bambi absolutely _hate_ dancing for Neumann. I get the impression just from their reaction to him that many things take place in that VIP room with him that they can't even talk about. The very notion is horrifying.

 _I'd be dancing for hundreds of Neumanns if I stay._

I shudder at the thought.

"You already have a new job?" she says in surprise. "Where?"

"I can't say," I tell her. Because I can't. And even if I could, I absolutely wouldn't tell her.

"Just remember that you signed a non-compete clause when we hired you," she spouts out cynically.

 _I only signed a non-compete clause as a server.  
And you just tried to get me in today to sign one as a dancer.  
I may be young, but I'm not as dumb as you think I am. _

It's the first time that I've ever witnessed a semblance of anger in Lauren Moratti. This seems more natural to her persona over the fake smiles that I've caught from her over the one month that I've known her. I immediately picture the true essence of the Wicked Queen from Snow White and wonder if that very image stares back at her as she peels off her makeup in front of the mirror every night.

"I understand that," I say with a raised voice. "But I'm a college student first. I am _not_ a dancer. I don't need the added stress on top of my full course load. It's best that I part ways with Zion."

My words are beyond sincere. I _don't_ need the added stress. But who's to say that taking this opportunity with Christian Grey won't be just as stressful, or even more so? However, as of right now, I only have one day promised with him. He didn't say that he'd continue to pursue anything beyond a Friday night dance.

 _Yeah, at least I'll have fall classes covered, giving me plenty of time to land another job, or maybe even a scholarship of some sort to cover my final semester next year._

"You do know that Starla and Bambi bring home six figures a year," she practically hisses. _Is she for real? Did she literally just tell me what my friends make?!_ "What entry level job would even dare pay you _that_ coming out of college? If you were smart, you'd go for the bird in the hand."

Is this bitch really suggesting that I drop out of college to dance full time?  
She must've fallen off of her boyfriend's rocker.

"No thank you, but I won't be doing that," I say point blank. "By the way, I'm running late for class. I've gotta go. _Bye_." And just like that, I hang up on the Red Witch of the Northwest.

 _You just hung up on six figures, Steele._

I immediately cancel out the irritating thought.

….

After yet another sleepless night, reality finally sets in. Tea is absolutely not strong enough to do the job, but I don't really care for coffee. I'm relying on sheer will to get through another school day.

Since hanging up on L-Mo yesterday, I've been avoiding my phone like the plague. The people at Zion have been blowing it up; Becky, Bambi, Starla, Elaine…all of my favorite people have been constantly leaving me messages. Even Betsy called. But the one message that kept me up all last night was the one from Jay Dark. Yes, the man himself managed to call me hours after I told his girlfriend that I quit.

 ** _"_** ** _Miss Steele, this is Jay Dark. It is urgent that you return my call. It would be wise not to let too much time pass by before you do."_**

That sounded like a sure threat to me. I played the message over and over again, trying to make sure that I wasn't just being paranoid. But the more I listened to it, the more that I was certain that he was threatening me. Being on the bad side of a very powerful man isn't a good look, hence why I was barely able to sleep last night.

And then there's Christian Grey. I now have two more days to decide if I'm going to go through with this dance. I can't get him out of my head. I'm so shocked that I still have his room key on me. Seriously, how realistic is this dancing arrangement? How long can a man with singular desires only be satisfied with a dancing virgin?

He's a self-proclaimed monogamous freak. What happens to me when he finds another _complicated_ girl? A wave of nausea hits me right in the gut. The thought of being discarded…tossed aside by the man of my dreams makes me physically ill.

 _But at the very least you get your tuition paid, Steele.  
All's not lost._

During my first class, my phone buzzes out of control. It's one Zion call after the next. When the third call stops vibrating, I shut the phone off entirely.

The second I turn the phone back on outside hours later, one missed call alert after the next pops ups. I feel nauseated. And just before I can check the voicemail, my phone buzzes again with an incoming call. It's from Zion. Stupidly, I answer it.

"Hello?" I murmur nervously.

"Miss Steele," a gruff voice says. "Finally, I get ahold of you. It's Jay Dark." Well, obviously it's him.

"Sorry, I've been in classes all morning," I say, but my apology isn't sincere in the least.

"Look, you're a star," he says, cutting right to the chase. "I don't want to see you leave my club. I'll give you anything you want if you dance just like you did on Monday night, as well as see to some very important clients in Private Row."

"But that's not what I want," I quickly tell him. "I made a stupid mistake that cost me my anonymity. Now that everyone knows I dance, I can't come back there."

"So, you're actually quitting?" he says in disbelief.

" _Yes_ ," I tell him in an irritated voice. "That's exactly what I told Lauren yesterday."

"Very well. I will warn you, if I find out that you're seeing Christian Grey, a client, outside of my club, I _will_ sue you. Just know that. Therefore, it would be wise to return to Zion with Grey as a client before anything drastic happens."

When I gasp, he hangs up on me. I'm literally shaking like a leaf. But soon my fear turns into fury. _I know my fucking rights!_ After some self-coaching, I decide to ignore his idle threats. _He's just trying to scare you._ I keep reminding myself that I never signed a talent's non-compete contract.

 _So, I guess I'm seeing Mr. Grey on Friday._

….

I finally called Betsy back. After chatting with her for nearly thirty minutes, she has me meet her at nine o'clock at night at the Vega Dance Lab in Portland. She'd already heard about Monday night's wild events from Bambi, but she was able to get a little bit of my perspective as well as my confirmation that I quit Zion. She tells me over the phone that I did the right thing.

When I meet her at the studio, she's under the assumption that we are just here to dance for fun. I break the news to her as we stand alone donning sweat clothes in the middle of the dancefloor, with bright lights reflecting off of it and the surrounding mirrors.

"I'm going to still be dancing for Mr. Grey. _Well_ …at least for one more day."

"Just one more day?" she says, surprised.

"Well, I told you about his…you know… _thing_ ," I say nervously.

Her brow furrows. " _What_ thing?"

I sigh. "You know."

Suddenly the lightbulb goes off. "He wants to do a little hanky-panky, too?"

Well, we've kind of already been doing that in the VIP room.  
Sort of.

"I think he was expecting that. Then I told him that I was inexperienced in that area."

"In BDSM? I'm sure that the majority of women are," she chuckles.

"Not just _that_ ," I say, nervously exposing my bottom row of teeth.

She blinks at me. "What do you mean?"

Nervous, I take in a breath. "Well, I've never… _You know_ …"

Like a light switch has just flipped, Betsy's confused expression transitions straight into pure shock.

"Sweet lord," she gasps, placing both of her hands on either of my upper arms. "You've never made love before?"

"No…I haven't," I say, shaking my head with a nervous smirk.

"Oh, sweetheart," she says, pulling me into her arms for a hug. "I can't imagine how pressured you must feel. Has he tried to force himself on you?"

"No," I tell her point blank. "On the contrary. I sort of feel like I've been forcing myself on _him_."

Betsy leans back and gapes at me. "Do you? Do you want to? With _him_?"

"It's all I ever think about," I say, borderline ashamed of my dark innermost thoughts. "He's so different from any guy that I've ever known. I'm just not sure if he feels the same way about me that I feel about him."

"Well sweetie, if what I heard about Monday was true, he was darned sure pissed at you. He literally lifted you off of that stage, is what I heard," she laughs. Her laugh causes me to smile. _Yeah, he certainly did._ "Only someone who truly cares about you would do that."

I sincerely hope that she's right.

"If you truly care for this guy like I think you do, you need more than just Friday night. Just like we got him to come back to the club last month…just like we got him to leave his submissive, we can get you dancing right into his heart. How about it?" she beams.

I smile wide and nod my reply.

"And after I teach you these two dances that's sure to do what we want them to do, I want you to give Joy a call. That's _if_ you are still thinking about making your dreams a reality with him."

 _Holy shit._

Am I truly ready for this? Do I really want this, or is it just a case of me getting too caught up in my fantasies? Just because I think about something constantly doesn't mean that it's good for me. No matter what I learn from Joy, I'm not going to be ready to do any of that wild, crazy shit that Grey likes by Friday. It's not going to happen.

 _But he knows that you're a virgin, Steele.  
Surely, he won't expect you to go from zero to one hundred overnight.  
Right?_

….

Early Thursday evening, I sit in Joy's tiny little office located inside of a suite in a professional high-rise not too far from my apartment. When I first got here, seeing the large, intricate red script lettering that spelled out _"Seduction & Stamina" _on the upper glass portion of the wooden door caused me to be taken aback, especially after walking past other doors labeled with the names of doctors, insurance agencies, and hair salons. When I walk in, it was quite obvious that Joy was very excited to see me again after almost two weeks. She then leads me from the modest lobby to her personal office where I sit on the sofa opposite her desk, and she takes her seat behind it.

Joy hasn't changed a bit since that night I first met her at Betsy's party. She obviously loves the color _black_. She loves short skirts. She loves very tall heels. And she loves to wear her full blond hair in a ponytail.

Joy adjusts the thick black frames on her nose. "So, tell me about him."

Nervous, I clear my throat. "Well, he's wealthy. _Extremely_ wealthy," I quantify. "He's in his late 20's. He lives in Seattle…"

"What's his favorite thing he likes to do with you?" she interrupts to bring me down a specific path.

Her question takes me aback. " _Well_ …" I stall, thinking long and hard about my answer. " _He_ …he likes it when I dance for him."

"Okay," she nods pleasingly. "That's a start. So, what happens when you dance for him?"

" _Um_ …he watches?" I say, unsure of exactly what she's looking for.

"Does he look like he's enjoying it?"

I nod. "Yeah. He smiles. It's…seductive, I'd say."

"Good. And does he dance with you?"

"Sometimes," I breathe. Believe it or not, I'm picturing that night I danced to _Erotic City_ while on his lap, and he moved with me while we kissed for the first time. It was… _heaven_.

"Does it get quite heated when you dance for him?"

"Oh yeah," I gasp, practically fanning myself.

"So, you've at least kissed, I presume?" she says in a voice that's loud enough to hear very clearly but still comes across as a sensual whisper. It's the perfect accompaniment to my wild, wild thoughts.

I nod. "Lots of times." As I say it, I picture Mr. Grey devouring me with his mouth.

"Is there touching involved?"

I picture his sizable erection firmly pressing against me, his mouth kissing the tops of my breasts. I wanted nothing more than for him to take me on that velvet sofa.

"Yes," I breathe.

"Where does he touch you?" she hums.

"Everywhere," I exhale, and all on their own, my hands smooth a path down each of my thighs over the rough edges of my jeans. I honestly forget where I am. My lids are clinched shut. I don't know why I'm this way in front of a stranger, but her welcoming spirit just forces this dark side of me to come out. It's indescribable.

"Everywhere?" she asks. "Does he touch your sex?"

"Mm hmm," I moan. I picture him pushing the undergarment to my costume off to the side and gliding his skilled fingers back and forth across my horizon. I can feel my toes curling in my sneakers as I recall the very moment he sticks one finger, then two inside of me not too long after I'd just finished dancing to _Give It To Me Right_.

"And he brings you to orgasm?"

I nod wildly. I quickly shake the feeling and open up my eyes. Staring back at me is a proud Joy.

"Do you want to be sexual?" she asks. It's a very loaded question.

"I'm dealing with _someone_...someone who I really care for, who's a _very_ sexual human being. And I want to be that for him, _but_ …but I'm still a virgin," I say nervously. All of a sudden, Joy's smile wipes away. She looks rather serious. The change alarms me.

"My job is to make sure that you want to be sexual for _you_ , not just for someone else. The moment you lose touch with that, sex suddenly becomes a tool of power and not intimacy, as it was originally intended."

Her words suddenly shake me to my core. I feel that I really need to explain myself further.

"Dancing for him makes me feel sexy," I tell her. "Even when I'm learning the dances with Betsy, I feel… _beautiful_."

"Ana, you are absolutely beautiful," she pleads to me. "But you should always know this, even when you're not dancing and being admired by some _man_." Again, her words smart, but I know that they are beyond true.

As our meeting goes on, we eventually get to the part where I learn things about sex, which is what I initially thought that this meeting would be when Betsy urged me to give Joy a call. And although I hate being put on the spot, I know that it was important to hear those hash truths from Joy. Sex is serious business. I need to know that this is what I want to do before I open myself up to it. And no matter how much Mr. Grey says that he'll be fine with just taking a dance, even I know that's not enough for him.

 _It's not even enough for me._

"Learn your body," she tells me first. "Explore yourself. Find your most sensitive spots without even exploring your vagina." I gape at her, yet she doesn't waver.

"Love your body," she says second. "You deserve to have the best time during intimacy, and that can't happen unless you allow your body to receive it."

"And most importantly, _relax_. Then let go and lose yourself."

Before I leave Joy's office, she gives me a free sample of something in a tube called _Teaser Pleaser_. "You can use this inside and out," she instructs. "Find out what works best for you. However, if you're correctly working steps 1 through 4, you won't even need _that_ ," she beams, pointing to the tube she just handed me. I blush at her words. "When you're ready, let that special person bask with you in the moment. It's not selfish at all to lose yourself if you bring your partner right along with you. Often, seeing their pleasure gets you there, and vice versa."

I'd assume that my meeting with Joy would go one way. I thought I'd be hearing all about how to please a man and how to get myself ready for him to have his way with me, but _no_. Joy's all about building up one's self. Betsy was right, this was an excellent idea. Before I leave, I promise Joy we'd meet again sometime next week for a follow up chat.

Everything is pretty much hinging on Friday and what will become of Mr. Grey and I after our first post-Zion appointment.

* * *

CHRISTIAN

I stand, staring down at Downtown Portland through the floor to ceiling windows. It seems as though Friday has taken forever to arrive, yet as it approaches eight o'clock, time seems to have sped up. Annoyingly, I get more and more anxious by the second. I begin pacing the grand suite.

I told Miss Steele on Monday that she had until 8:10 to arrive, or our deal was off the table. I was pleased to see that she hadn't step one foot near Zion. Still, I don't feel all that positive that she'll show up here, even though she has visited some dance studio two days in a row, according to her tracer. There was also the inexplainable visit to some office building in Vancouver last night. _Was she there for a late job interview?_

It's 8:03 when I hear the sound of the door unlocking. I turn around to face it when it swings wide open, revealing Miss Steele in a long tan trench coat.

 _Thank god_ – I internally exhale in relief.

"Miss Steele," I great her with a smirk as the heavy door closes shut behind her. "It's good to see you." She nods in response, appearing a little bit disconnected. It startles me.

"Miss Steele?" I say in concern. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," she says too quickly. "So, where do you want me to dance?" She walks over to the nearest coffee table and drops her purse. Then she places her fingers at the top button, appearing to unfasten it.

I blink at the whirlwind that is Anastasia Steele. "Why the rush?" I say to her. "Do you have somewhere else to be tonight?" I approach her until we stand toe to toe. She's smells delightful. And it's wonderful to see her walking so confidently in high heels. It's a drastic improvement to when I saw her in them that first night in the private room.

"No, she answers as her eyes fall to the floor. I lift her chin back up until her eyes meet mine.

 _Hell, it really is good to see her again.  
She's more gorgeous than I last remembered. _

"We'll have dinner first, then you'll dance. Okay?" I hum. She nods with her chin still in my hands. I finally release her.

"Sit," I order her over to the nearest sofa. "How's your week been?" She reluctantly makes her way over there and I follow behind her. When she picks a spot to sit in, I position myself right next to her, making sure she's fairly close. Even in the private room, she had a habit of first sitting far away from me at the start.

" _Eh_ ," she replies, shrugging her shoulders in uncertainty. It's then when I know that something's up.

"What happened?" I ask.

"Nothing that I can't handle."

My gaze at her narrows. "Miss Steele, what happened?" I repeat myself.

"It's fine," she sighs. "I promise."

My expression turns darker. "I don't like to repeat myself, so it's best that you tell me what's bothering you before I pull it out of you."

Miss Steele flinches as if she's taking my warning to heart.

 _Good._

"Jay Dark threatened to sue me if I saw you outside of Zion," she murmurs.

"What?!" I bark.

"But I know that he can't do that. I never signed a contract to dance, although they tried to get me to sign one on Tuesday."

"Asshole," I growl. "Dark doesn't have a leg to stand on. I'll fuck him up if he lays one finger on you."

"Calm down," she sighs. "I know that he can't touch me. I just don't want to make a public scene. I don't need my family or close friends finding out what I've been doing for the past month."

Eventually my temperature starts to cool, but not by much.  
 _Fucking Jay Dark._

"You should have called me," I say, none too pleased.

"I would have, but I don't have your number," she frowns.

 _Fuck. She's right._ Immediately, I take my phone out of my back pocket and send her a quick text. "You have it now," I say, sliding the phone back into my pocket. "You better call me if Dark ever contacts you again. I'll take care of him."

When her phone buzzes inside of her purse over at the table, she looks to be beside herself. "I don't even want to know how you even got my phone number."

I smirk. "I have my ways, Miss Steele."

"Oh, I'm sure," she says with that smart mouth of hers.

Dammit, I don't understand how this girl can evoke so many things from me. It's baffling.

Room service shows up right on cue and I let them roll in the cart to the dining room. Ten minutes later, I am seated across from Miss Steele as we're about to partake in a house salad, salmon, mashed potatoes and asparagus, along with a glass of wine. I raise my glass to her to propose a toast. "To life outside of Zion." She reaches her glass across the table and clinks it with mine before we each take a sip.

As we eat, it's generally quiet except for the occasional clinking of silverware.

"More wine?" I ask her after a while. She nods, and I fill up her quarter-full glass before refilling mine from empty.

"So," I start. "I planned on covering your fall tuition today. However, depending on how you dance tonight, you might be able to earn a little more than that. I understand that you have a new car. You also have school expenses for spring."

She looks up at me with the biggest, blue innocent doe eyes. It's breathtaking.

"How are you expecting me to dance tonight for me to earn more?" she sincerely asks.

I take another sip out of my wine glass. "You'll have to take into account everything you've learned over the past month. You can't overthink it. You must lose yourself in the dance and take me there with you."

Her eyes open wide as if my words triggered something in her.

" _What_?" I ask.

She shakes it off. "Nothing."

My brow furrows at her, but it doesn't prompt her to share her thoughts with me.

"I always wondered, why do you expect me to dance on a full stomach?" she says all of a sudden.

I smirk in response. "I never really thought about that," I say honestly.

"I'm surprised that I haven't puked all over you during a lap dance," she says with a straight face.

I laugh. "That wouldn't be good."

Yet I know just by looking at how skinny this beautiful girl is, she doesn't even bother to feed herself. Look at her, she's fucking cleaning her plate as if she's hasn't had a decent meal in days. It's aggravating.

Less than fifteen minutes after dessert, she and I return to the living room. I'm seated as she stands about seven feet away from me, still wearing her trench coat.

 _Finally, I get to see what lies underneath._

 _Down Grey, you're not going to be fucking this one.  
She's a virgin._

The realization of not touching this beautiful girl is beyond disappointing. If I could touch her, I'd do so many wonderful things to her. Then I remember, I've finger fucked her. _You have touched her before, Grey. But_ I haven't touch her in the way that I've dreamt of touching her night after night.

"Do you happen to have an iPod with Bob Marley songs on it?" she asks. "I need a particular song and meant to borrow my roommate's, but I completely forgot."

"Had you ever had an orgasm prior to two weeks ago in the private room with me?" I say, completely ignoring her question. She gapes at me.

"Why?" she asks, looking very defensive.

"I want to know," I say point blank. Her gaze falls to the floor.

"No," she utters, ashamed.

 _As I suspected._ I clear my throat, sit back in my seat and take another swig of wine. I need the entire bottle at this point. I know this girl is getting ready to drive me insane and all I can do about it tonight is to sit back and watch.

Part of me wishes that I didn't meet her until after she graduated from college. Maybe she would have ended up with some louse at school who didn't know what the hell he was doing, yet she still would have gotten _some_ sexual experience. Then I wouldn't feel so awful about the potential of taking some sweet girl's virginity.

Yet the thought of some other asshole fondling her, trying but failing to please her body… _hell_ , or even _succeeding_ pisses me off to the nth degree. For some reason, I don't want any other fucker touching her.

"Music?" she says, leaning sideways and impatiently taping her toe.

"Oh, right," I say, standing to go to the bedroom to retrieve the iPod. I return less than a minute later.

"What song?" I ask her as I wake it up.

" _Turn Your Lights Down Low_? Do you have that one?"

 _Holy shit, she's bringing out the big guns. The King of Reggae?_ And that particular song is beyond seductive. Sure enough, I find Marley's _Exodus_ album and when I locate the requested song, I know that I'm a goner.

 _Miss Steele, you surely know how to test a man's will.  
_ But what she doesn't know is that I've mastered the art of restraint for over twelve years.

"I have it," I tell her as I walk it over to the speaker dock. I look over my shoulder as I position the device and catch Miss Steele retrieving her wine glass that's sitting on the coffee table next to mine. She glugs the remainder of it before refilling her glass.

"Slow down, Miss Steele. We both know what tends to happen when you have too much alcohol in you," I scold. I focus back on the iPod and the speaker when I hear her sharp response.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You know damn well what I'm talking about. Do you _really_ want to discuss it again?" I snip.

When the iPod's in position, I turn to her for her reaction. She looks petulant.

"No, not really."

"I thought so," I strike.

"What would you have done if someone came up to your job to tell you all of these wild things about someone who'd never even bothered to personally tell you about those things?"

"I would have sat down and listened to every word that _someone_ had to say and not have paid any mind to the intruder," I simply reply.

"I tried that," she hisses. "Yet you refused to tell me anything until after I got drunk and went out on that floor and made a fool out of myself."

I approach her slowly. "And yet you kept something from _me_."

She blinks. "Yeah," she breathes, ashamed.

"So, we're even," I smirk at her, placing a wild strand of hair behind her ear. For a moment, I thought that I felt her tremble before she steps back.

"Is the song cued?"

I nod.

She carefully places her hands on my arms, and with a mischievous but innocent smile, she guides me back to the sofa right where I sat before getting up for the iPod.

As she turns and walks back over towards the speaker, I know that her hands are making quick work at the large buttons that fasten her trench coat. I try my best to control my breathing, but when the outer garment falls to her feet, all I see is a beautiful porcelain colored back adorned with satin black straps. And instantly, I picture her bound with some of my black rope in my playroom. Her gorgeous bottom bursts forth in matching boy shorts. I'm going insane internally as I watch her walk over to a nearby chair and lay down her coat. She then turns around to look at me and I freeze.

A black satin halter-top laced with black straps.  
She looks simply magnificent.

"Miss Steele," I sigh. Before I can complete my sentence, a reggae drum suddenly strikes up through the speaker, and Miss Steele turns down the volume just a tinge. And without any precursor, she seductively strides with one high heel after the other until she's standing behind me. As soon as Marley croons his request, which is also the title of the song, she leans over the sofa and sweeps her palm across my lap.

 _And we're here.  
So soon?_

I turn my head sideways and I watch her slowly, seductively caress her gorgeous curves to the beat, and I'm already short circuiting.

Holy shit.

 _Control yourself, Grey.  
The fucking song just started._

She gingerly walks from behind me and stops once her ass is facing me head on. Her hands glide across her breasts again, this time, her ass goes out, teasing me. Her hands go up and tangle into her wild chestnut mane as she pops into a squat. Those hands suddenly move back down and glide down her body until they reach her thighs. Once she smooths them over her knees, she pulsates her entire body up and down into her squat before rocking back up into standing position.

 _Grey, you're losing the battle.  
Please, get ahold of yourself. _

Soon, Miss Steele is walking back over to the sofa and suddenly throws a leg across mine, pressing a heel into the sofa. She flings her hair across my face before reaching back her right hand from behind and glides it across her sex.

 _Fuck!_ I nearly gasp out loud. And before I can even exhale, she pops a squat right into my lap, facing me. And then, she just goes wild, rocking up and down into my lap. It's then when I realize that I am sitting on my hands, trying my damnedest not to lay a finger on her. Because once I do, it's over.

For the next two minutes or more, Miss Steele continues to evoke her same torture on me, but the intensity of her movement increases more and more by the minute. She's sweating, and I'm nearly sweating watching her. Witnessing the glow on her skin does things to me. _I_ want to make her skin do that.

 _Grey, don't even think it.  
You can't sully this girl. _

I watch as she drops down in front of me and teepee's her ass straight into the air before falling into a series of ground shattering thrusts. My dick pulsates with her every drop. _Shit!_ And no matter how hard I try to stop my raging hormones, they just keep on getting worse.

I must warn her. I don't know if I can restrain myself if she falls back into my lap. I'm going to do what I've done to her for the past few weeks. But what frightens me is that there's no one outside of the door to stop things from going too far. There's no panic button around her neck or strewn across her waist.

Would she let me take her virginity? I sure as hell don't deserve it. I've never fucked a virgin. _Ever._

As the song, too long but yet so short, comes to a close, she's back in my lap, dancing sensually on me. With her eyes closed, she leans out with her head dropped back and facing the ceiling. And I realize that she's completely lost in the dance. She's not here with me. I know that as soon as the song dissipates into silence, she'll wake up from her trance and turn back into that shy, nervous girl that I've gotten to know over these past few weeks. But what she doesn't know is that there doesn't come a part where _I_ wake up. I'm exactly where this beautiful girl left me, stranded in the land of extreme want in desire. It's a shitty place to be when you're the only one there.

Just as I expected, her eyes spring open. But what I don't expect is for her blue eyes to look at me longingly and her fingers to thread themselves into my hair.

 _The song's over, Miss Steele.  
What are you doing?_

Still, she rocks in my lap as if the song is still playing. I can just hear her breath… _and_ mine. And suddenly, she kisses me.

 _Don't do it, Grey.  
Don't you fucking dare kiss her back._

But I can't help it. I fall right into her as if her hips have put me in a trance. I begin to rock with her as our kiss grows deeper and deeper.

She then pulls away, but she has fire in her eyes when she does.

"I want you," she breathes. "I want you to take my virtue."

I freeze.

 _What?!_

My shock suddenly stuns her, but she stills as if she's deep in thought. I refuse to touch her. I don't want to lead her on. I refuse to take something that I don't deserve…especially from her.

Soon, she's back on her feet. Out of nowhere, she starts humming sweetly and dancing slowly in front of me. I gape at her. It doesn't take long before she's lost yet again. I can't take my eyes off of her as she rocks her body and threatens to take me back there with her, but the familiar tune haunts me.

 _What is she humming?_

It's not until she's midway through and back on my lap, caressing my arms, my face, my hair that I realize that she's humming _I'm On Fire_ by Bruce Springsteen. I fucking lose it.

I grab her arms and pin them behind her back and then attack her mouth. She falls deep into my kiss as I take and take, giving nothing…yet she finds exactly what she needs in my lust. It's enough to send me over the edge.

I pull away from her mouth and claim her sweet neck.

"Please," she begs, gasping for air. " _Please_ …"

I continue kissing her all over her neck, mouth, face, ear. She doesn't stop her plea.

" _Please_."

I'm afraid to ask her what she wants, because I know that I'll give her just about anything right now.

 _Goddammit!_

Inflamed and yearning, I can't stop tasting her skin. And I so desperately want to taste her in between her knees and upward. That time when she wasn't looking in the VIP room, I snuck a sample of her from my fingertips. Holy fuck, she tasted divine.

I kiss her neck from one end to the next.

" _Please_ ," she begs for the hundredth time. "Make love to me, Mr. Grey."

 _She wants me to…_ _ **make love**_ _?_

I cover her mouth again with mine and I capture her moans. With gusto, I rock my cock against the place that it so desperately wants to be right now. Her groans get louder and louder in my mouth.

I don't stop. I move up against her relentlessly while holding her down by her restrained arms behind her back. And I want nothing more than to undo this halter top and use it to bind her up against the bedpost in the other room. Just the very thought of that sets me ablaze.

I don't realize it right away, but I'm just pushing and pushing and she's pushing back. Suddenly, her " _Please_ ," gets so loud until I can feel her body shaking. _Oh fuck, she's coming._ After a few beats, she does – crying out her orgasm.

 _Holy hell._

I stop moving and gape at her as I watch one of the most beautiful things I've ever seen lose all sense of control. It's beyond compare. After she exhales, I still don't let her go. I start kissing her all over again.

" _Please_ ," she gasps.

"You'd let me taste you?" I groan.

" _Yes_ ," she says so desperately.

I don't hesitate. I lower her down until her back touches the sofa and I tug her satin boy shorts from her waist until they exit from each heel. I kiss her thighs, teasing her. Immediately her hands find their way back into my hair. I'm reluctant at first, but then I quickly remember that this woman knows exactly where and where not to touch me. I then go to town.

I tease the skin of her thighs and the delightful sounds that she makes over me presses me to go further. I kiss her all around until my tongue lands on her sex. She loses it. It's more than obvious that she's never had anyone do this to her before by the way she wiggles.

"Hold still, baby," I tell her. I can tell that she's trying very hard, but she can't help it once my tongue has a mind of its own.

 _Mmm – she tastes even better this way._

 _"_ _Please…"_

I want nothing more than to absorb every drop of this dancing goddess, and to lap up every ounce of her as she comes in my mouth. It doesn't take long before she arrives there once more. Her thighs begin clenching my head as her orgasm shatters her. The sound is sweet, sweet music to my ears.

 _Maybe that's good enough for her.  
Maybe she'll stop begging me to 'make love' to her. _

I'm rarely wrong, but I've truly underestimate this woman's greed. She pulls me up by my hair and forces her tongue down my throat, tasting both me _and_ her. As she does it, she's rocking her bare waist up into my jeans. I'm shocked.

 _She's like the fucking Terminator, refusing to relent._

" _Please_ ," she whines when she pulls away from my mouth. Her tongue suddenly finds my ear and I groan.

Once again, she starts to hum _I'm On Fire_ as she rocks up into me and I lose my fucking mind. My hands slide between the sofa and her back and I unravel the straps to her halter top. She helps me as I remove it from over her head. I look down, admiring her naked body as she's still in heels. She looks fucking amazing.

I kiss her mouth, her naked breasts, her stomach.

" _Please_." Her pleading becomes more and more desperate. Then she tugs at my shirt.

 _Oh no._

I raise from her and sit up beside her naked body.

"What?" she gasps, kneeling towards me. "I didn't touch your chest."

"I know," I grumble. "It's just… _baby_ …I _really_ want to fuck the shit out of you right now."

"Well, _do it_ ," she counters.

I gape at her. " _You_ …you sure you want to do this?"

She nods, pleading for the millionth time, " _Please_."

 _Shit!_

"Alright. _I_ …I guess I'll try my best to be gentle with it being your first time and all," I bumble like an idiot.

"No," she sighs. "I don't want _gentle_. I simply want all of you."

The passionate twinkle in her eye drives me absolutely insane.

 _Holy balls of fuck._

Well, if it's all of me she wants, it's all of me she'll get.

 _I certainly hope you're ready, Miss Steele._

* * *

 ** _A/N: Faithful readers – I'm back! Thanks so much for allowing me to take some much-needed time off from writing. I'm sure I'll need to do it again in the future, but it won't be for a good while. So, rest assured. ;)_**

 ** _In the next chapter tentatively titled "Fornication" Ana finally loses her virginity and is shocked when she wakes up all alone in Mr. Grey's hotel suite. But fret not, she'll return as they continue their dancing/sexual rendezvous at The Heathman._**

 ** _However, what Miss Steele didn't sign up for is the excessive stalking that will take place. Also, her client's controlling ways will take her by great surprise. Will she regret falling for such a high-handed man? I guess we'll just have to wait and see. :)_**

 ** _For those of you who are interested, we started a new private Facebook group last week called Storie Tells All. Please feel free to join and get all of the new teasers before they hit the weekly update._**

 ** _Until next Sunday. Thanks for reading! – ST2_**


	11. Chapter 11 - Fornication

**Chapter 11** **–** **Fornication**

CHRISTIAN

You know that moment when your deepest desires manifest in the flesh?  
For me, that moment's finally here.

I could just let loose in my jeans right this fucking second as I tie together the wrists of Anastasia Steele over her head with her discarded, unlaced halter top. Here she finally lies…completely naked and at my total mercy on top of the duvet in my hotel bedroom. _Fuck, she's so beautiful._ I watch as Miss Steele pants uncontrollably.

"Try and keep your arms above your head for me," I groan my orders right before kissing her mouth. I move my lips slowly down to her throat. She gasps. "So…you said you wanted _all of me_ , huh?" I challenge.

" _Yes_ ," she rasps, desperately. I travel down further, and my mouth, tongue, and teeth soon wreak havoc on each of her ripe nipples. Miss Steele cries out as I do so. I'm enraptured.

With my entire being, I want to fuck this woman into next Thursday. I want her to feel exactly where I was when she's not in my presence. I want to go so hard on her tonight, that she ends up hobbling around campus next week on crutches and unable to sit down in those uncomfortable WSU lecture hall seats. I want her sex constantly throbbing whenever she's lying alone in bed, to the point of her craving a _hair-of-the-dog_ type of remedy – A.K.A. _My Dick_ – to stop the ache. Then she'll text me, begging me to fuck her again that very night, and I'd simply reply with – _Friday, Miss Steele. Friday._

But she's a virgin, and no matter how much she begs, I couldn't possibly give her _all of me_. She wouldn't know what to do with that much so soon. If she truly had a taste of _all of me_ , she'd disappear. There's no way in hell she'd stick around if I exposed her to everything I'd hope to show her after she graduates next spring.

 _It's best to teach her how to swim in the shallow end first.  
And then we can gradually venture off into the deep end._

She's wiggling and moaning out of control as I continue to suck on each breast.  
 _Miss Steele has so much to learn._

"Keep your hands where I can see them, or I will find a way to tie them to this headboard," I groan in a sharp, sensual warning.

I'm expecting a stunned reaction from her. Instead, right away, she tries her damnedest to comply, fighting with all of her might to resist the foreign surges that her nervous system has probably never transmitted inside of her body before. Slowly, I'm losing control, but I know that I must be diligent no matter how badly my body wants to brutally claim hers. I can't be that beast that I want to be tonight. I don't want to scare her away from something before it's truly begun; and most certainly, not during her first time.

 _Grey, you need to locate that inner sap within; that same gentle asshole you've more than likely read about in all of those old books that Miss Steele likes so much. Find him and give her what she needs, and not what her mouth says that she wants._

I know that she's ready. She's _been_ ready, so I gently roll off to the side of the bed to peel off my t-shirt. When my eyes reemerge from the lifted fabric, I catch Miss Steele gaping at me with sheer hunger. Idly, I wonder for a split second if she's taken notice of my scars, but I quickly discard the thought. I don't need that bullshit ruining my night.

After unfastening my jeans, they and my boxer briefs slide down together and off of each leg. When I stand erect in more ways than one, I witness as Miss Steele's eyes open wide in alarm.

 _Oh. Right._

"Don't you worry," I whisper to her. "I won't hurt you." _Yet._

" _I_ …I'm not so sure about that," she sighs with a nervous chuckle.

"Your body is more resilient than you think," I smirk. "Trust me. And besides, you said that you wanted all of me. But being that this is your first time and all, I'm going to start with the tip. We'll see how much you can handle. Okay?"

Still stunned, she gives me a slight nod. I'm a split second away from crawling back in bed with her before I get a thought.

"I take it that you're not on any birth control. I was wise to bring condoms."  
I fucking hate condoms, but they'll be needed if we're going to do this.

"Oh," she gasps with wide eyes. As I prepare to turn on my heel to head towards my suitcase for the condoms, I hear her say, "I am."

I look back at her, perplexed. "Excuse me?"

"I'm on the pill," she says nonchalantly.

And immediately, I think – _Hmm, that's interesting._

"I'm curious," I say to her. "How long have you been on the pill?" Yes, I'm standing over a beautiful woman who I've wanted to fuck for a whole month now, who's a virgin and just told me that she's on the pill – so no dreaded rubbers are needed, dangling a cock so rigid that I feel like I could bust a vein, and yet my never-sleeping brain just has to know _why_ she's on the pill.

 _Were you always planning on fucking me, Miss Steele?  
Or was it someone else who's hopefully out of the picture by now? _

"Since late last month," she whispers. Her breasts sensually go up and down as she pants both nervously and desperately.

"Really?" I smirk. _So, it might have been for me after all_. The very thought pleases me.

She nods. "That day, Zion's management informed all of the girls that we had to get STD tested and then urged us to get on birth control if we weren't on it already."

The smile on my face wipes clean off.  
 _What. In. The. Fuck._

Although I'm happy that she can't get pregnant, I'm severely annoyed that her former employer felt the need to make her and her female colleagues get tested as if they're running some sort of illegal sex shop. If Miss Steele didn't leave when she did, no telling what these assholes would have subjected her to.

I know right away that when the night is done, I am going to find out what would've happened to Miss Steele if she'd been stubborn enough to remain at that dreaded club. I want to make certain that she never even thinks about going back there.

"You know they can't do that," I growl to her in anger. "If they were to fire someone who tested positive for HIV, that's grounds for discrimination."

"I figured," she breathes. All of a sudden, she narrows her eyes at me. "Are we seriously talking about this _right now_?"

"No," I say as my mischievous smirk returns. "There are more pressing matters at hand." As I start to climb back in bed with her, she holds out her hand to halt me. I still.

"What about you?" she lobs. "How recently have you been tested?"

Her candor surprises me. "Well, if you must know…"

"I must," she sassily interrupts. "You recently got out of a… _complicated relationship_." I notice a tinge of spite in the way that she delivers the phrase. I crawl into bed anyhow and I'm soon hovering on top of her, propped up by my elbows and knees. Her breathing intensifies. I can't help it, I kiss her hard for a beat, then I immediately pull away, leaving her panting for more.

"All of my submissives are required to get tested regularly by my doctor per the contract that they sign with me. The same goes for me." I kiss her yet again with the same intensity and stop once more.

"Do you expect me to sign something, too?" she gasps before my lips reclaim hers. We soon smack apart yet again.

"Yes. A non-disclosure agreement. You can't tell anyone that you're seeing me." We kiss again. My hands dig into her lush chestnut mane.

"Yeah, I know that," she gasps when we stop again. "Dark will certainly use that against me. And there's my friends and family. I have no problem with signing an NDA."

"Good," I smile, kissing her again. A groan escapes her throat, setting me ablaze. My cock pulsates in extreme yearning. My lips journey down to her neck.

"What about the _other_ contract?" she quietly asks. "Is it anything like what your submissives had to sign?"

"No," I call out in between kisses. "The contract I had for you was for a paid agreement. And as I've said before, I _never_ pay for sex."

"So, it _was_ a contract for just dancing?" she gasps as her body contracts in response to me going down her clavicle and to her breasts.

"Mm hmm," I grumble as I suck on her delicious breasts for the hundredth time tonight. I absolutely can't get enough of them…or her. Shortly, my hand journeys downward, testing the waters. She starts to move out of control, moaning; gasping.

"Baby, I need you to be still," I murmur in a plea while staring up into her deep blue eyes. "This is simply another dance. Just like that first night you danced for me, I'm going to need you to find the rhythm and try to get lost in it. Can you do that for me?"

She nods in deep understanding of the correlation that I just delivered. "If you want to add sex to the contract, I might be okay with that," she says, breathless. My thumb stills on her clitoris.

"You don't know what you're saying," I voice ominously.

"Yeah," she smiles. "Maybe you're right. Best to get past this first."

Her smile and words are contagious. "We'll see how you feel about it after tonight."

I insert one finger, and holy fucking shit – she's a pool of blatant desire.

" _Ah_ ," she groans.

I start with one finger, and later, two – all while massaging her clit with my thumb. Soon, she's moving her hips with the rhythm that my hand has set, and my hips can't help but to move along with her. My jealous cock rests just between her thighs as my hands and mouth do all of the work.

" _Ohhh!_ " she cries out.

I bite her nipple as I feel her tight, tight sex start to contract all around my two fingers.

"That's it, baby," I whisper. I suddenly sense her bound hands shifting above me. My other hand that was massaging her free breast instantly goes up and stills her arms as she comes hard. I remove my fingers from inside of her and slide the moisture across my shaft as her orgasm continues to shatter her. As I glide upward to kiss her throat, I place my tip just at her labia. She throws her head back deeper into the mattress, crying out.

It simply boggles my mind how easily that this girl can come, being so inexperienced and all. It's the most glorious thing that I've ever witnessed. I adore how receptive she always is to my hungry tongue and hands. I ache to see how she responds to my starving dick.

"You want this?" I utter, teasing her opening with the head.

She hasn't yet come down. Her bound wrists are fighting my hold and her hips continue to wave up and down as she tremors.

"Anastasia – try and lie still for me, okay?" I tell her after a while. She nods frantically.

"Remember what I told you about the music? I need you to just lay back, relax, and just feel. Don't _do_ ; _feel_."

When I feel that she has relaxed well enough, I glide the tip in past her lips and towards her warm, wet center. She feels fucking amazing.

" _Ah_ ," she gasps.

"I won't go all the way in," I moan into in her ear before I kiss it, even though my spine is desperate to push all the way forward into this gorgeous girl. To stop that from happening, I keep a tight grip around the base of my cock. After teasing her, playing with her for a while, she gets lost and dances on her back to my pacing. I move my fist back, allowing more of me to go inside of her.

 _Oh,_ _ **fuck**_ _._

" _Ohhh_ ," she cries.

"Baby, does that hurt?"

" _Just_ …just a little," she trembles. "But don't stop. Give me more, _please._ "

I gape at her. _More?_ I don't ask any questions. I slide into her just a little bit more, and she cries out. And after playing inside of her for a while at this length, her greedy hips move upward, begging for more.

So, I give it to her. Another inch here, another inch there. And once her hips start to dance up towards my dick, I let in just a little bit more. Until….

" _Ohhhhhh_ ," she groans into my ear.

I'm all the way in there… _finally_. Fuck, she feels so magnificent and tight all around me. I could just sit still in her for hours and not even move. In an instant, a melody enters my mind and I begin humming it out loud as she did earlier in the front room of the suite. Suddenly, she starts to move in sync with the tune. It doesn't dawn on me right away, but I eventually realize that I am humming Counting Crows' _Colorblind_. I study her underneath me, and she is completely lost. I begin to move right along with her.

"How does that feel?" I whisper. She cries out. "Tell me," I order, thrusting my hips while holding her arms steady above her head.

" _Ohhh_ …" she moans. " _So_ …so good…"

" _Mmm_ ," I moan in delight, pushing myself deeper and deeper inside of her. Her legs lift until her feet land flat on the mattress, pointing her bended knees towards the ceiling. I fall further into her.

" _Ah!_ Faster," she pleads. I immediately think – _Are you sure?_ Yet my cock hears only what it wants to, so he delivers.

" _Fuck_ ," I call out before attacking her gaping mouth. I'm climbing in and out of her before her legs suddenly wrap around mine, clawing for more. "You want more of me, baby?" I whisper into her ear.

" _Yes_ … **ah**!"

I move even faster. I soon begin to feel the sweat pouring down my spine. I look down in between her breasts and witness the sheen across the surface of her skin. My eyes journey downward through the gap between us and then watch as I crank her like a piston inside of a race car working at full-speed.

 _Holy shit, I'm really fucking this girl hard for this to be her very first time.  
And she's pleading for more. _

_Is she really a virgin?_

I continue to look down at where she and I come together and apart, and I notice a very light streak of blood present on my shaft. _Yes, she's definitely a virgin._ Yet when I glance up at her, she's not wincing in pain. She is somewhere where her mind won't allow her to feel anything _but_ pleasure. I immediately go off the rails at the very sight.

"Oh, baby…" I groan, "…you feel _soooo_ , so good. I've wanted you for _so_ long." Both of my hands find her hair and grip it to the scalp. Her arms remain steady above us as I vigorously claim her body. She moans loudly.

"I don't ever want to stop fucking you," I grunt. _Ever._ Being inside of this girl feels just like heaven on earth. There is nothing like it.

 _Sweetheart, you truly don't understand how happy I am to be doing this to you right now._

" _Ah!_ " she cries out.

"Oh yeah," I groan, thrusting with the utmost intensity. "I'm going to come so thick and hard inside of you, Anastasia..."

" _Ohhhh,_ " she exhales with her mouth open wide, appearing to be trying her very best to mask her true sound.

"Don't expect me to pull out when I'm done. I'll stay here until I'm hard enough to fuck you one more time and come again." Her whimpering gets louder. "Do you hear me, baby?" I groan. "I'm busting two fucking loads inside of your yummy goodness."

 _Damn, Grey…that's a bit much, don't you think?_

Oh well, it doesn't matter since Miss Steele is beginning to shake violently after my words.

"Please! _Ahhhh_!" she cries out. Her insides commence to squeezing me hard. I'm spinning out of control watching her; _feeling_ her.

"Yeah, baby. That's right…" I goad her through gritted teeth, not slowing down my stroke a single beat, "…come all over my cock. I wanna swim in you."

And boy does she come, letting out an earth shattering cry.

" _Fuck yeah_ ," I pant, not taking my eyes off of her as she screams. I don't slow down. Witnessing her pure ecstasy eventually does me in. I gnarr like a wild animal as I let loose inside of her. It goes on, and on, and on. I don't ever recall being this out of control. Hell, I feel like a snot-nosed kid all over again. It's only been a few weeks since I've had sex, so I don't get why I'm losing my shit so hard like this.

 _Maybe she's the reason._ I shake away the stray thought.

As soon as we return back to earth, I kiss her mouth and she reciprocates. Her delectable lips and tongue reawaken my senses.

"So…how was that?" I smirk after our smooch. All of a sudden, her legs and thighs place me in a vice grip. I'm not used to having sex with such a forward woman. _Well, not since…_ Right away, I stop thinking about _her_. _She's_ ancient history in more ways than one.

"I'm expecting you to make good on your promise," Miss Steele says with a shy smile. And before I can ask her to remind me of what I said, it immediately returns to my remembrance.

 _Miss Steele – why you insatiable little devil.  
What am I going to do with you?_

I make good on my promise and stay exactly where I am, kissing her, teasing her until I'm ready to go again, which doesn't take me very long at all. I can truly say that Miss Anastasia Steele is the nicest lay that I've had in quite a while.

Maybe even _ever_.

* * *

ANA

My eyelids slowly flicker until I catch a sliver of light escaping through the drawn blinds. _Damn, I really have to pee._ Lazily, I turn over to the side to check my clock before it dawns on me that I am _not_ in my bedroom.

 _You're still in Mr. Grey's hotel suite.  
Holy shit._

I locate a dimmed clock on the nightstand and see that it's a quarter past eight. I sit up and look around. No sign of Mr. Grey. My eyes scan towards the bathroom. The door is wide open, and it's dark inside. I sit still, trying to catch any trace of sound outside of this bedroom. _Nothing._ I turn my focus to the bed, finally realizing that I am covered in a sheet and duvet. _I don't remember us getting under the covers last night._ _ **He**_ _was my cover._

When my eyes look over to the empty left side of the bed, I spy a folded sheet of paper resting on a pillow. _Oh no, don't tell me he ghosted and left me a note._ I close my eyes and lower my head in shame. _Maybe he went to get coffee or something?_ My head goes back up and I reach across the bed for the for paper. When I grab it, I see what looks like a personal check underneath it. My eyes grow big and wide.

 _Why, that son of a bitch! This is exactly what this is…he left a note and then ghosted me!_

I reach over for the check and my jaw nearly hits the floor when I catch all of those zeros. _Well Steele, it looks like you did go the extra mile last night. He paid you more than double of what he promised. Holy hell._ I'm more in shock than elated, and not in a good way. When I start to read the accompanying note scribed on Heathman stationary, I can't but help feel as if I'm _Darling Nikki_ from the Prince song. The note might as well had said – _Thank you for a funky time…_

 _Anastasia,  
Thank you for a marvelous night.  
This should help cover all of this semester and some of next.  
Stay away from seedy gentlemen establishments.  
You are a very beautiful and smart young lady.  
– Christian_

Is this ' _goodbye'_?

I think about last night when he was inside of me. How ironic of him, humming _Colorblind_ , best known in the film _Cruel Intentions_ , which was a more modern take on an eighteenth century French novel. In the movie, Sebastian begins to feel guilty when he's just moments away from robbing Annette's virginity under false pretenses. During his guise, he was starting to develop true feelings for her. Therefore, he could no longer take advantage of her with a clear conscience. But when a broken Annette sets off to leave town to visit a friend, Sebastian drives off to catch her at the train station before she does. That's when _Colorblind_ begins to play. And when Annette reaches the top of the escalator and sees Sebastian, he tells her that he's in love, and they kiss. Then they finally fuck, and everything goes downhill from there.

As I stare at the note in my hands written in impeccable penmanship, I wonder if this is the moment when I lose my soul to the one who wrote it. _Am I Annette?_

 _"_ _You are a very beautiful and smart young lady."_

That's some shit an uncle or a teacher would say. Not your lover. Also, a lover doesn't disappear leaving behind a check for twenty grand.

 _Who does that?!  
A pimp or a john, that's who._

But then I quickly remind myself that this is not what _this_ is. _This_ has _never_ been _that_. Mr. Grey and I have always been in a client/dancer relationship – except now, we unwittingly brought our genitals into the equation. Damn it – this is getting to be _way_ _too_ _complicated_.

A month ago, I was dealing with the anxiety of not knowing if I was going to be able to remain in school. Now I have the absolute guarantee literally right here at my fingertips. I should feel a deep sigh relief. This dollar amount covers the remainder of my fall tuition and fees after the setback of purchasing a new car, as well as books and a portion of my tuition for spring. I'll be able to register for my final semester as soon as registration opens up. I am on my way to graduating on time with my friends. _It's exactly what I wanted, right?_ This is why I took the job at Zion in the first place.

I could have _never_ predicted how trading in one anxious feeling for a completely different one would make me feel even worse than I did before. Do I regret having sex with Mr. Grey last night? No. It was everything that I could have possibly dreamed of. He was tender, hot and sexy as fuck, commanding, relentless, and loving. He was everything that I wanted – or so I thought. But then he had to go and fuck it all up by leaving me all alone in his hotel suite the next morning with a check and a _Dear Jane_ note.

Asshole.

* * *

CHRISTIAN

Twenty minutes after my five-mile run, I exit the steamy hot, much smaller hotel bathroom wearing nothing but a towel wrapped tightly around my waist. I walk straight to my cell phone on the desk and check the screen. _Good, I didn't miss anything._

When I left Miss Steele alone in my larger suite, I made certain that she had a full-out breakfast spread waiting for her in the dining room. I also have Taylor and the front desk looking out for her, keeping me informed if and when she leaves. Oh, and there's the GPS tracker on her phone.

In hindsight, I almost regret leaving her alone like that in the middle of the night. But in all honesty, I had no other choice. It was the only way I could get a wink of sleep. Well, I did catch myself nodding off as I stared at her sleeping for what might have been hours, but there was no way in hell I was chancing falling asleep with her in the same bed as me. _Especially since my nightmares have recently resurfaced._

So, after checking into a lesser room, I decided to nap for a couple of hours before waking up and setting out on a run. I have a late breakfast on the way up, then I plan on doing some work before shuffling off to Seattle.

 _Hell, I probably should've included on that note that she's welcomed to stay in the suite for as long as she likes. But knowing her, she'll probably leave shortly after reading the note._

I can't help but dwell on the reality of taking Miss Steele's virginity last night. When I lay wide awake in bed a few hours ago, and when I ran through downtown Portland, _and_ as I showered…the thought haunted me throughout. I know without a doubt that she deserves much better than me, and part of me hopes that she soon finds it.

 _I'm truly unworthy of someone like her._

Still, I yearn to stay in Portland another night so that I could witness her dance for me just one more time. But alas, I need to head back to Seattle in order to tend to some business over the weekend.

….

Nearly a week has gone by and I've thought about nothing but her.

As soon as I returned home from Portland on Sunday, I sent Miss Steele an email to her WSU account asking how she's doing. To my surprise she quickly responded, thanking me for all that I've done. And I idly wondered if she was thanking me for the check or for the fuck.

In between meetings earlier today, I called her just to hear her sweet voice.

 _"_ _Hello?"_

 _"_ _Miss Steele, how are you?" I said, smiling._

 _"_ _I'm well, thank you."_

 _Damn, I sure do miss seeing her nearly every day_ – I thought in that moment.

 _"_ _Hypothetically, what if I told you that I redid the contract and added a little something extra? Would you object?" I said to her._

 _"_ _Well, I'd have to read it first. I know someone who'd take great issue with me signing a document before reading it," she teased._

 _Oh Miss Steele, you certainly know how to keep a man on his toes._

 _"_ _Well, I guess I'll have to bring it to you in person Friday night. Same place, same room?" I proposed._

 _"_ _Alright," she said._

I pictured her shy smile when she said it. But then she follows it up with something else.

 _"_ _Are you going to escape out the window again in the middle of the night?"_

 _"_ _I didn't_ _ **escape**_ _," I tell her. "I had something to take care of."_

I could tell by her deep sigh that she didn't believe me. I guess the contract will just have to clarify to her that I mean absolutely no harm in leaving her alone in bed. It's simply a preference. _Just like my rules on touching._

Later, I texted her before dinner, and she didn't respond. I was itching to call her but didn't bother. _Maybe she's studying._

* * *

ANA

For the past week, it's been fairly quiet on the Zion front, save for a few calls from the girls. I really do miss them. I promised each of them that we'd all meet up soon. But for now, I don't have to work. My semester is all paid for. The remainder of the twenty thousand dollars resides in the bank, keeping warm until spring.

As far as Mr. Grey goes, I'm a little pissed at him. Not just for his note a week ago, but he didn't bother to respond to my last text or email within two hours of me sending it. I know that he's a busy man and all, but hell, he could've replied with ' _I'm busy, we'll talk later'_ – but _no_. I'm still wondering if I'm seeing him tonight, or if he's now blowing me off.

I even learned two brand new dances for him and bought a hot little costume to go with one of them.

Then to my surprise, he finally replies to my last text after seven in the evening as I sit alone at the coffee shop.

 ** _I'm here at the Heathman. Meet me in the executive suite._**

….

"I texted you as soon as I got it," he says as I remove my jacket.

My god, it's so hard to stay irritated at this man. I mean, look at him; he looks perfect in his dark jeans and light blue Oxford shirt unfastened at the top two buttons with just a light smidgeon of hair peeping out. _I wish he'd let me run my tongue through it._ I quickly table the lascivious thought.

"I sent the last text before I left the campus library." He gapes at me. "That was just before four," I tell him.

"I didn't get it until after seven," he says with narrowed eyes. He walks across the sitting area and towards the tall marble console where the wine is. He then looks at me and offers some with a simple head nod. I answer with a nod of my own.

"Were you in the air around four?" I ask.

He pops the cork. "No. I touched down early this morning. I've been working out of my office in Portland."

 _Hmm._ He walks over carrying two filled glasses at the stem.

"Maybe it's time for you to get a new phone," he says, handing me a glass.

"My phone works just fine," I spout before taking sip.

"So," he starts after he swallows his drink. Holy hell, we are standing, so close. His delicious scent now permeates my nostrils even more than it did before. It's like an aphrodisiac. "I have a couple of things for you to look over," he says in that husky way that makes me weak in the knees.

"Yeah?"

"The NDA and the dance contract?"

 _Oh. That._ When he turns in the opposite direction, I already feel cold as he takes his desirable heat with him. I didn't even notice the stack of papers that sat on the smaller end table by the sofa before now. He grabs them and returns my way.

"You want to sit in the dining room to talk this through?" he suggests.

"I'd figured you'd want me to dance first," I say with a nervous laugh.

His gray eyes take a slight turn. "We won't be able to do much talking once you start dancing. And I don't foresee much talking going on after you dance, either."

 _Oh, my._ I'm nearly breathless. My shyness kicks in and my eyes slowly reach the ground.

"So, the dining room?" he pushes once more.

I nod and follow him over to the next room where I sit at the head of the eight-person table, and he takes the adjacent seat to my right. He then begins to shuffle me a single page.

"That's the NDA. It just says that you…"

I'm already reaching for the pen on the table as he's mid-sentence. I flick out the tip and sign right on the dotted line. "I know," I murmur. "No talking to anyone about what we're doing. Got it." When I look at him as I slide over the signed document, he's smirking at me.

"You didn't read a single word of that."

"I did," I perk. "I'm a very fast reader. And besides, you already told me what it was for." His answering expression lingers on disapproving and amusement.

"Alright," he prefaces as he presents the larger document. "Let's discuss the agreement." He stands and approaches my side. Leaning down, he places the deck right before me.

"I had to do a lot of revisions to my standard contract. _A lot_ ," he says, strongly emphasizing the last two words.

Nervous, I glance across the first page.

 **Anastasia Rose Steele will hereby be referred to as 'THE ARTIST'**

 _So, I'm an 'artist' now._ I stifle a grin.

 **Christian Trevelyan Grey will hereby be referred to as 'THE CLIENT'**

" _Trevelyan_?" I say out loud before looking up at him. "Is that your middle name?"

"No – surname."

"Hmm… _Trevelyan Grey_ ," I mutter as I begin flipping from one page to the next. "Is there any BDSM stuff in here?" I inquire as quietly as possible. I look up at him for his answer.

"No." And although he looks serious, I swear that I spot a trace of a maniacal grin on his face…or maybe it's just all in my head.

"Okay," I reply nervously. "So, is this just _me_ dancing for _you_?"

" _Mm hmm_ ," he says. When I study him again, his expression makes me feel even more uneasy.

"Friday nights? _Here_?"

"And Saturdays. And Sundays…"

I gape at him.

"I told you, this is a weekend agreement. Don't worry, it won't be consistent right away. I have some pressing business to handle back home for the next couple of weeks. But once that's all under control, I plan on being here in Portland every weekend. And if I happen to be in town during the week for meetings at SNA Corp, you must be available at night." I stare at him with even wider eyes. "Yeah," he smirks, "that's written in the contract, too."

Holy shit, is he actually serious?

"I thought that you said this was a _'weekend agreement'_?" I lob at him mid-page turn.

"Well… _yeah_ ," he says with a tilt of the head. "But whenever I'm in town, I still expect to see you."

 _Oh._ I have no witty comeback, because likewise, I'd like to see him if he so happens to be in the neighborhood. Silently, I turn back to the document and flip over to the next page. I read details about him covering the costs of my dance lessons, my costumes, and anything else that I'll need to do the job.

There's also a salary noted – eight thousand dollars for an entire weekend. _Holy shit, I really don't need all of that money._ At this rate, I'll be done paying for spring classes in less than three weeks. Three more weeks after that, my new car will be paid off.

I don't bother to argue the rate with him. Instead, I continue to parse through the next two pages. To be quite honest, I'm not really concentrating on the words; I am only looking for things that stand out. When I reach page six, something _definitely_ stands out.

 **THE ARTIST is prohibited from engaging in any sort of sexual relationship with anyone other than THE CLIENT.**

"Wait a minute," I say abruptly, "there's _sex_ in here."

"Did you read exactly what it says?" he responds with chastising eyes.

" _The artist is prohibited from engaging in any sort of sexual relationship with anyone other than_ …" He interrupts me.

"You are not allowed to have sex with anyone else, Miss Steele," he says point blank. "And you don't have to have sex if you don't want to. However, if you _do_ decide to have sex, it should be with me." He says it with a sort of arrogant smirk. I gape at him.

"You can't demand that in our contract. It's the same as including sex as a requirement."

"No, it's not," he says in a way that defies his age.  
 _Geez, it's like I'm talking to a four-year-old._

"You're paying me for sex," I say forthright.

"No. First of all, I am not making you have sex with me. But since we've already done it twice, I think that it's safe to say you'll keep on giving it up to me, regardless."

Is this man fucking for real? I mean, _seriously_. Does he actually hear the preposterous words that are flying out of his mouth?

"Second of all," he continues, "I broke the seal last week, Miss Steele. So regardless if you sign the contract or not, that nice slice of heaven resting pretty in between those luscious thighs of yours belongs to _me_ now."

My eyes widen even more and with a gaping mouth I tilt my head sideways at him. _No, he didn't just say that._ At first, I don't know whether to be turned on or utterly appalled. Eventually I settle on the latter.

 _Just because you were my first doesn't mean that you'll be my last.  
Jerk._

I'm witnessing a brilliant billionaire businessman flipping the switch and reverting back to a spoiled little brat. I am annoyed yet confounded.

"I don't need a guardian for my vagina, thank you very much," I hiss at him.

"So, you want to fuck other men?" he volleys. I spy a look of disappointment on his gorgeous face.

"I didn't say that!" I snap, irritated. "I thought that this was a _dance_ contract."

He pulls the chair behind him closer to me and sits before gently placing a hand on my lap. "It is. And there's a list of expectations that goes along with it. Look…this is how I work. I don't think there's anything unreasonable written there. Like I said, I had to make a lot of changes. I'm not used to relationships outside of the ones that I've had. They've all been contractual. I require boundaries, Miss Steele. I hope that you can understand that."

So, he needs written rules just so that he can point them out whenever they are broken?  
 _Man, this dude is_ _ **so**_ _fucked up._

My head sinks at the realization. Yet, something tells me that he needs this. What I've scanned through really isn't deal-breaking. Yeah, I can totally understand that while we are having unprotected sex, I shouldn't be engaging in that behavior with anyone else.

"Does the same go for you?" I ask all of a sudden, now looking back at him.

"Of course," he replies, appearing to be borderline offended. "There's too much shit floating around these days for people to catch. You have to remain safe and smart. Therefore, _all_ of my sexual relationships are monogamous."

 _Oh, so now_ _ **I'm**_ _the 'complicated' girl._ His use of the word _relationship_ deeply concerns me. When I consider a bonafide _relationship_ , I think of just _being_ together and not needing to sign some contract with overly-complicated legalese.

"This is not admissible in court or anything, right?" I instantly chime.

"Fuck no," he scoffs.

"So why? Why do _this_?"

He swallows. "Like I said, this is how my mind works. I need a clear roadmap. And whether or not you agree, so do you."

 _No, I don't need this_ – I think immediately, but then I remember that this man is actually paying me to _'dance'_. This is a payable transaction and Christian Grey is an extremely wealthy man who requires written justification for everything that he does. I'll never understand it, but those are the facts.

I flip over to the final page of the agreement and I begin to sign it.

"Wait," he says, but I don't stop signing. I then write down today's date in the slot next to my signature. "You'll still need to read and initial each page."

I then flip to the first page and start initialing it after a three-second glance.

"You don't have to sign it today," he says, his voice sounding very displeased. I ignore him and keep initialing away. _Well why did you give me the document in the first fucking place if you didn't want me to sign it?_

I restore the stack of papers bound by a single super thick staple before sliding it across the table to him. "Look, I'm in school and I've already got tons of other shit to read," I sigh.

He shakes his head and clicks his tongue while waving a finger, _tsk-tsking_ me. "I've told you about signing things before reading them. Haven't you learned from Zion?"

"All of that garbage is just like the Apple iTunes contract that flashes up on your screen right after you install it. If you don't agree to the terms, you can't use the program. Same with Zion. Same _here_."

He chuckles in amusement. "Miss Steele, you make everything sound so simple."

I just sit there and shrug my shoulders.

 _Hey, what can I say._

….

I don't remember dancing for him and I can't recall exactly when our clothes fly off, but here we are once more. Everything else before this moment is simply a blur.

Now, Mr. Grey is throwing me onto the bed and then commences to ravage my entire body. I am a bundle of nerves and cluster of sweet sensations. _Oh my god…this is exactly what I've been yearning for all freaking week._ I've barely eaten or slept before now. My ability to concentrate in school without obsessing over him has been nearly impossible.

"If you lived in Seattle, I'd fuck you every single night," he gravels. I moan. "Tell me…did you miss feeling me down there? Are you wet for me, baby?" he says as he teases me just at the surface with his fingers. I gasp as I grip the covers.

Holy fucking shit – _that voice_! That sexy ass voice and those hot words that he says with it. And his extremely skilled hands.

 _Hell yeah, I'm wet._

He doesn't wait for me to answer. Instead, his fingers locate the truth as his mouth takes mine captive. "I loved your dance tonight, _and_ your costume," he whispers into my ear. _He obviously didn't love it_ _ **that**_ _much._

I arrived here at The Heathman wearing a black trench coat, and underneath it – a red asymmetrical Latin dance dress with ruffles coming down the fold on the right side. The left side of the dress was held up by a single spaghetti strap. Believe it or not, I found it while browsing around a consignment shop, and it fit me perfectly. It's probably my favorite dress that I've danced in so far. Too bad it's the one that I've worn for the shortest amount of time. I wasn't able to complete my Rumba-inspired routine to _Ain't No Sunshine_. Mr. Grey's hands were all over me, and my mouth couldn't get enough of his.

Now we're here in the bedroom. And before I can even say _'boo'_ , he flips me over on my stomach like a pancake, knocking the wind right out of me. And before I register what's happening, his mouth is right behind me, devouring my sex as he hums his satisfaction. It doesn't take long for me to reach orgasm, yanking the sheets as I cry out in extreme ecstasy. Likewise, it doesn't take long for him to grab ahold of my hips and hoist them up high before sliding into me – skin against skin.

 _Fuuuuucccckkkk…._

….

The very next morning, it's like déjà vu all over again. I wake up completely sore and find yet another note on the pillow followed by another check.

 _Does he really want me to keep coming back here every Friday if he continues to do me this way?_ Reluctantly, I read the note.

 _Anastasia,  
I'll see you next Friday.  
Same time, same place.  
I'll email you a copy of the signed agreement._

 _I enjoyed your dance.  
I enjoyed you.  
– Christian_

For some reason, I begin to recall reading about how I could cancel our contract at any time, but what about him? _Can he leave me just like he left the last girl when something better comes along?_ I shudder at the thought.

I never thought that I'd feel so lonely after finally having sex.

….

It's Sunday and I am reeling over the email I just read while having tea.

* * *

From: Christian Grey  
Subject: Tonight  
Date: October 24, 2010 10:17  
To: Anastasia Steele

I'm back in town. Meet me tonight at 5:00 pm.

Best regards,

Christian Grey  
CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

* * *

The first thing in my mind wasn't – _Is that it? Is that all you have to say?_ No, that came second. My first thought was – _Wow, he's back already and I get to see him._ Never mind that I didn't practice dancing a single lick yesterday. I have a dance on backup, but I don't want to do that one. It's not sexy enough. It's just… _cute_.

I'd better call Betsy, and maybe I can find something sexy enough in Kate's closet to dance in. _Perhaps that purple dress she let me wear to her older brother's graduation last year might work._

….

When I arrive at Mr. Grey's suite, he greets me with a kiss and a bag.

"What's that?" I say with a twisted nose.

"Put this on," he orders.

"But I'm already dressed to dance," I say, slipping my tan overcoat off my shoulder to reveal Kate's plum dress that I proudly _'borrowed'_.

"I want you to wear this," he says, pushing the plastic white bag into my hand.

"But I want to wear this," I sigh, taking the garment reluctantly. "My dress goes hand in hand with the dance."

"Well, make what I gave you go with the dance – and if it doesn't, make up a new one." I roll my eyes and he clears his throat before zooming me with his narrowed eyes. "I'm sure that you carefully read in the contract you signed that you are only to dance in the costumes that I provide."

 _Shit, was that actually in there? Hell, maybe I should've read the whole thing._

"Did it say that you are to pick my music, too?" I reply, appalled.

"No, it doesn't. Maybe it should have," he taunts.

 _Gah…I can't with this man right now._ I excuse myself and go into the master bathroom to change. I'm beyond annoyed. My routine to Norah Jones' _Sinkin' Soon_ surpasses sassy and went perfectly with the plum dress. God knows what he has me wearing instead. I'm sure his wardrobe choice won't match up with the dance that I just learned today.

When I close the bathroom door and pull the garment from the bag, I am floored.

It's a beautiful, wrinkle-proof shimmery charcoal bandage-style V-neck dress with gorgeous layered fringe at the bottom. _"Whoa"_ – I gasp out loud. When the bag falls to the floor, I hear a loud clank. My eyes narrow in confusion as I bend down to retrieve the bag. Inside are a pair of beautiful silver high-heel sandals. _Damn, this man certainly knows how to shop._

After I change dresses and heels, I shimmy my hips in front of the full-length mirror.

 _Holy cow – the dress and shoes fit me like a glove.  
How in the hell did he know what sizes I wear?_

In the midst of my thoughts, I suddenly get a flash of inspiration as I watch the fringe sway back and forth across my thighs.

 _I am going to attempt my first freestyle dance in quite a while._

….

In the living room, I locate _Splash Waterfalls_ by Ludacris on my brand-new iPod that I bought with Mr. Grey's money last week, along with a new laptop computer of my very own. As soon as the beat drops through the speaker deck, I am in my zone, letting the music take me exactly where it wants to.

Thirty minutes later, I'm stark naked on Mr. Grey's lap as he firmly holds my arms in place behind my back. His jeans are down to his ankles and I am riding his cock _hard_ while his shirt remains on his back. Now, he's doing exactly what the woman in the chorus sang earlier.

 _Fuck, me…_

" _Oh my god_!" I cry out as he pounds up into me, throwing off the pace that I originally set. Christian Grey certainly has a bad habit of throwing a monkey wrench in all of my plans from start to finish.

"That's right, baby…ride this dick. Ride it like a bull," he groans, gritting his teeth before he sucks on my neck.

He's fucking me again soon afterwards in the bedroom. This time, he's fully naked.

 _I don't know about him, but I am becoming more and more addicted to him by the second._

….

I sit in Joy's office Tuesday evening, extremely nervous to tell her all that I've been through over the past twelve days. How do you tell your so-called sex therapist that you are having relations with a paying client? However, _said client_ isn't _actually_ paying you for sex, but for something else that eventually leads to sex.

 _Speaking of paying…_

"Is there a charge for our meetings?" I ask outright. "I'm sorry, I should've asked sooner."

"My god, no," Joy chuckles. "I never expected you to pay me. Betsy is a very dear friend of mine. And from the moment you and I met, I knew that you were someone special." Her words take me by surprise. "Normally I charge for consultations, but I know that you are a college student. However, something tells me that you are the sort of person who's more than willing to give something whenever you can."

"Oh my gosh," I say strongly, "absolutely. You better believe I'll re-pay your kindness in full the second that I am able. I've learned so much from you."

"I'm happy to help. It's why I do what I do," Joy beams at me. "So, tell me about this first time. Was it everything you dreamt it would be? Don't be ashamed if it wasn't," she chuckles. "Usually the first time can be rather… _awkward_."

I shake my head. "Not for me," I sigh.

Miss Joy tilts her head. "Damn. It's like that, _huh_?"

I have no words to describe the sexual prowess of the one and only, Mr. Christian Grey.  
 _Hell, I wonder how he's like in that so-called sex dungeon of his back in Seattle.  
_ The very thought stifles me.

"Well then," she laughs. "Has there been a repeat?" I nod enthusiastically. "Tell me about the first time, then. Were you nervous?"

"Very," I sigh. "But dancing first helped take the edge off. It also helped that I seemed to want it more than he did."

She gapes at me. "So, you pressed the issue to have sex?"

"Well… _yeah_. He wasn't planning on it happening. I'd just told him days earlier that I was a virgin, so that sort of freaked him out. But once he saw that I was more than willing to lose my virginity with him, the rest was history."

"Dang," she smiles. "You're a feisty little, mama, aren't you?"

Mr. Grey would most certainly agree with her.

….

I leave Joy's office building when it's still daylight out, carrying in my purse some Kegel balls along with instructions on how to keep things… _um_ … _powerful_ down there for me and a _certain someone_. Earlier, I asked Joy if there was any way that I'd start to get used to my partner's size, and whether or not he'd become too _accustomed_ to me to the point of boredom. She didn't believe that would be a problem at this early stage, but she introduced me to the Kegel balls anyway. She explained that their purpose was to keep the PC muscles nice and firm.

 _"_ _Just like any other muscle in your body, you need to work it out and  
keep it tight, or else gravity may eventually take over."_

I shudder at the thought. _I have years before that happens._

As I walk down the university area which is by no means barren, I still feel an eerie presence over my shoulder. When I turn around my eyes land on a tall skinny young-looking guy with glasses. He's not paying me any mind, so I chalk it up to paranoia and head straight home.

….

Mr. Grey called last night to inform me that he'd be in town on a Wednesday for a last-minute visit. Since quitting Zion, I've been hanging around all over campus and waiting until after ten to head to the apartment. I always run the risk of bumping into Kate or one of her friends when I'm supposed to be at work. It's much easier to hide out on the nights that I have to meet Betsy at the dance studio. But today, it'll be my first weeknight that I'll actually be working.

 _Geesh, that sounds dirty._

Around six, I leave campus and set out towards The Heathman. Three minutes out, my phone rings.

"Hey," I greet. "I'm on my way now."

"About that…" he starts.

 _Oh no. He's giving me the slip. This time, over the phone._

"Don't drive to the hotel right now," he says. He sounds a bit odd.

"Not _right now_? Why not?" _Is he there with someone else?_ Fuck, Steele – why do you always let your mind take you to places that you truly don't want to go?

"I'm going to need you to listen to me carefully and remain calm," he starts. "You are being followed right now."

 _Oh my god.  
Oh my god!_

 _Holy fucking shit_ – My head nearly spins out of its axis checking the rear and side view mirrors.

" _Who_? Who's following me?"

"Calm down," he coos. "Taylor? Are you on the line?"

 _Oh my god...someone else is on the call with us?_

"Sir," he replies, and I quickly remember that _Taylor_ is his driver.

"Miss Steele, Taylor is on the road following the car that's following you. He won't let anything happen to you, okay?" he says in a voice that I know he's using to only placate me, however something tells me that he is freaking the fuck out. The very thought of that kicks my nerves into overdrive.

"Who's following me?" I ask in a panic once more.

"We're trying to figure that out," he responds.

"Sir," Taylor interjects, "I have Welch running the plates now. He's holding on the other line."

 _Welch? Who's Welch?_

"Switch over," Grey orders.

"One moment," Taylor says before the line clicks.

"Anastasia, hang a left at the light and take it to the freeway," Grey orders.

 _How in the hell does he know where I am?_ I'm freaking out way too much to even pose the question.

….

I don't get to Mr. Grey's hotel suite until just after nine. I've been a total wreck driving around in circles for the past three hours. When he opens the door, I throw my arms around him and he squeezes me tight.

"Oh my gosh," I gasp on the verge of tears. I eventually step back from our embrace, but he remains in contact by smoothing down my hair.

"Did you come here today because you knew that I was being followed?" I soon ask.

"Yes."

Holy shit. This is _really_ serious.

"I was visiting a friend last night at an office building not too far from campus," I tell him. "I could've sworn that someone was following me."

"What time," he snaps with urgency.

"Around five? Five thirty?"

"What did he look like?"

"Tall…about six-four. Glasses, light brown hair. Young…about twenty-five. He was wearing a plaid shirt."

Mr. Grey begins dialing his phone and marches out of the front room leaving me confused. Ten minutes later, he returns.

"That's one of the fuckers that's been following you," he spits out. _There's more than one?!_ "I'm certain Jay Dark hired him to do this. I am going to fuck his world up."

 _Oh no._ Whatever Mr. Grey has planned can't be good. We need to be smart about this. Nothing good can come out of making Jay Dark a public display. If he's brought out in the open, he'll take us with him. And that would be bad… _very_ bad.

"My intel informs me that you were being followed for the past two weeks," he says angrily.

"Since I quit the club," I gasp at the shocking realization. Then immediately afterwards, something else dawns on me. "Wait a minute, how do you know that I was being followed?"

"My people have also been tracking you," Grey says in his all-business tone. "Except _my team's_ much more discrete than the dipshits that Dark hired."

" _Are you serious_?!" I gape at him. _Why is he having me followed?_ I am fucking livid.

"I wasn't taking any chances the moment that Jay Dark threatened you," he says unwaveringly.

Every time I try to be mad at him, he goes ahead and does something that makes him more of a prince charming than I can stand. _To hell with this man_ – I smile to myself _._

Later that night after I danced to some Justin Timberlake, I show Mr. Grey my sincere appreciation by letting him rock _my_ body until the wee hours.

….

Early afternoon, I texted Sasha to see if she was free for dinner tonight. Thankfully, she was. I then promised that I'd reveal the location later. I have to ensure that wherever we decide to meet, none of Jay Dark's informants catch us in the act. Dark will probably put two and two together and try to stop our meeting from happening.

A while later, I call up Mr. Grey to let him know that I'm meeting up with one of Kate's friends at a burger joint just off campus. I could tell that he was surprised for the reason of my call, yet he assures me that he'll have his team keeping watch whether Dark's people show up or not.

I make certain that Sasha arrives at the restaurant first and gets us a table before texting her with the excuse of running behind by ten minutes due to heavy traffic on the bridge from Portland. I eventually arrive, and we exchange an awkward greeting. Let's be frank – Sasha and I only hang out because of Kate. However, since finding out that I'm being followed by Jay Dark, it's imperative that I have his estranged daughter on my side.

After we order drinks, I get right to the point. "Look, we're not necessarily the best of friends," I preface with a sigh. Sasha is stunned by my words. "Until now, I've actually considered you to be just Kate's friend. Let's be real…you and I don't have very much in common."

"Wow," Sasha says while looking genuinely hurt. "I never really thought of it that way. Yeah…what you said kind of sucks, but it's true. I sincerely hope that we can change that. I really like hanging out with you, Ana. I know that I can be a bitch sometimes. Honestly, I don't mean to be."

"I know that," I say in total understanding. "However, trust is the only true sign of a friendship."

"Exactly," Sasha echoes in absolute agreement. "Which is why I can honestly say that I trust you."

I gape at her.

"I knew I could trust you once I realized that you didn't bother to tell Kate that my bio dad was Jay Dark. So, I want you to know that if you ever entrust me with any of your secrets, they are absolutely safe with me."

I swallow into the poignant segue. "Well, I'm glad you said that because I have something to share with you that _cannot_ leave this table. Not even Kate can know. See…this is where your secret and mine join together."

Sasha's eyes flicker at the news. "How's that?"

"Your father owns an exclusive gentlemen's club called _Zion_."

"Oh my god," she gapes. "I've heard rumors, but I could never prove that they were true."

"It's true," I nod. "I worked there. I desperately needed the money for school once Clayton's Hardware went under. So, I answered a sketchy ad in a free newspaper's _Help Wanted_ section."

Sasha gasps. "Holy shit, are you serious? I thought that you were a night nanny?"

I shake my head. "That's just a cover. I was working nights at Zion. I quit two weeks ago when I refused to move over from waitressing to dancing. Your father saw a recording of me dancing, and then he decided that I didn't have a choice."

"Are you kidding me?" she says, now angered. I nod regretfully. "Oh my god – I'm _so sorry_ ," she says, taking my hand across the table. "Jeremiah Dark is a fucking asshole."

"That's not all," I say, temporarily ceasing her angry tirade. "For the past two weeks, he's been having me followed."

" _Nooo_ ," she gasps in sheer disbelief.

"I think he's trying to sue me for quitting, which caused a top-paying client of mine to stop patronizing his business. Your father thinks that I am still seeing this client outside of the club, and he's trying to catch me red handed."

"He wouldn't _dare_ ," Sasha hisses. "I'm sure that ass is making hand over fist with that club. He probably has it under Lauren's name in order to protect it. If the club was in existence four years ago, he didn't disclose that income when he and my mom divorced. That would mean half of that club belongs to her."

And for the first time in many, many days, I smile big and wide. "I know for a fact that a couple of my good friends have worked there for at least five years," I tell her.

"That motherfucker," she mumbles under her breath, disgusted.

It was then when I knew without a doubt that I had Jay Dark's daughter, his Achilles heel, on my side.

* * *

 ** _A/N: So…our favorite pair is knee-deep in lemonade territory, but coming up next, Ana begins to see a much more controlling side of her client that she doesn't necessarily care for. Can she handle him, or nah?_**

 ** _Then, lots wild hot sex starts to take its toll, making good on Grey's promise to cause a rather difficult daily life for his muse. And just when Ana thinks that she has everything under control, she'll get a chilling reminder that her annoying parents still exist, haha!_**

 ** _Until next Sunday, thanks for reading! – ST2_**

 ** _PS: Happy Memorial Day to those in the US. Enjoy your long weekend!_**


	12. Chapter 12 - Domination

**Chapter 12** **–** **Domination**

CHRISTIAN

When it comes to Miss Steele, one can't ever be too careful. Taylor has been working out an iron clad security strategy ever since the blatant neighborhood stalking has progressed to nearly high-speed road chases. It's obvious that Dark wants to catch her in the act of seeing me, but he's getting extremely careless with his efforts.

So, in order to ensure that Miss Steele doesn't get hurt while trying to divert these assholes hired by Dark, _I_ hired a driver named Doug to pick her up on Fridays from the WSU Vancouver campus, leaving her car safely parked there while she's at The Heathman with me. Doug retired from the US Secret Service and has seen it all, so he was the perfect man for the job – although Miss Steele initially took issue with me hiring her such a skilled driver.

 _"_ _Why a former Secret Service agent? Why don't I just take a cab?"_

 _"_ _This is much too serious for just any driver, Miss Steele. You need to remain safe."_

While this very conversation was taking place last night, I couldn't help but picture her rolling her eyes at my response. And as badly as I wanted to respond in a promise to punish her the next time I saw her, I held back. _Punishment isn't part of this first iteration, Grey._ Yet I still need to get her ready for what I will expect starting next May when she moves to Seattle.

 _It'll be a whole new ballgame inside of my playroom, Miss Steele._

But until then, I'll have to hold back my urge to bring her across my knee. While we have a client/artist arrangement, I'll have to be a little more creative with the agreement that's currently in place. Miss Steele's smart mouth is both frustrating and intriguing – but it hinges more on the second.

As I sit behind my desk in our satellite office in Portland, I smile at the fact that I'll be treated to a sensual dance tonight. I relish in the notion of being just as excited for the dancing as I am for the sex. Before the sex was even in the picture, I wasn't certain if the main reason that Miss Steele's dancing captivated me was due to my carnal desires. But now that I've had her, watching her dance has an even greater effect on me.

This past Monday while at work at Grey House, I found myself pondering what dance Miss Steele would grace me with this coming weekend. My thoughts eventually led me over to the web where I searched for more costumes that would inspire her just as that charcoal-colored bandage dress did last week.

Damn, she was beyond amazing; and it was a freestyle dance, no less. The dance student has now become the expert, and I am loving every second of it. By the end of the day, I placed orders for five costumes, which have since been delivered, and will be presented to Miss Steele tonight. Unlike last time, she'll have a choice. I realize how important it is for her to match her art to the perfect frame. But as for me, I have a thing for dressing up beautiful women. This is something that I must do – _and_ it's in the contract.

 _What satisfies me even more: I get to peel off my giftwrapping by the end of the night._  
I lick my chops at the thought.

I'm in the middle of a video conference with Ros and Marco who are back in Seattle, when my cell phone buzzes on my desk. _It's Miss Steele._

"Excuse me, guys," I say, peeping back up at the flat screen on the wall straight ahead, "I've gotta take this. I like the direction we're going in. Let's pick this up when I'm in the office on Monday."

"Sure thing," Ros nods in satisfaction.

"Have a great weekend, Mr. Grey," Marco chimes.

"You too," I say before disconnecting the call using the remote app on the nearby iPad. I quickly answer my Blackberry before the call rolls into voicemail.

"Miss Steele."

"Hey…did I catch you at a bad time?" she say apologetically.

"No, not at all. What's going on?" I ask. Automatically, my senses are tingling.

 _Is she calling me to cancel tonight?  
Is she safe?_

"This probably could've waited until later, but I wanted to let you know that I'm working out an angle with Jay Dark."

Immediately, my internal alarm goes off. "I don't want you doing anything," I snap. "Don't go anywhere _near_ …"

"I'm not," she sharply interrupts. "I actually might have some leverage against him. I recently discovered that his daughter is a friend of mine."

I'm staring straight ahead at the now dark television screen. "Really? How?"

"I've known her since sophomore year here at WSU. We were talking a month ago and she mentioned that her last name used to be Dark before she changed it. She totally hates her father. He left her mom for L-Mo," she reveals.

Okay, so it's a small world. However, the revelation doesn't make me feel any more confident that we could put a direct end to Dark's twisted pursuit of Anastasia. _What damage could Dark's daughter possibly do to him?_

"So, we have an estranged daughter and a jilted ex-wife," I assess. "How exactly is that _leverage_?" I ask.

"I had dinner with Sasha, Dark's daughter, last night to see what useful information I could find. Turns out when the Darks' divorce decree was issued four years ago, the former Mrs. Dark was supposed to get half of all of Mr. Dark's assets. Zion wasn't included in the list of assets at the time," Miss Steele submits.

I narrow my eyes, confused. "Why wasn't it included?"

"Because…Mrs. Dark wasn't aware that it even existed."

My eyes perk up and a slow smirk forms on my face. "So Dark was playing the shell game with his assets," I say, stroking my chin. "It's obvious that Zion generates more revenue than any other of his businesses. He probably registered it under an alias."

"Or under Lauren Moratti's name," she tosses in.

 _This is good. Really good._

I contemplate for a beat. "We need proof that Dark is and has always been the true owner of Zion. I'm going to have my financial forensic investigator get in contact with your friend so that he can assist her and her mother in building up their case against Dark."

Miss Steele gasps, "Would you do that?" The hopefulness in her voice eggs me on. I smile even wider.

"Of course. This is too good of an opportunity to not take advantage of it. And besides, it's way less messy than what I had in mind before."

"Oh god," she sighs. "I don't even want to know what insanity you had planned."

"I'm most certain you wouldn't," I tease.

"Well _geez_ , I'm glad I called before you did something crazy," she says, now giggling. Her laughter always sends a spark right through me.

"I'm glad you called, too. That was excellent thinking on your part, Miss Steele. However, in the meantime, I'm working on hiring full-time security for you until this Dark issue gets resolved."

She sighs. "Don't you already have your people following me?"

"Yes, but I need someone watching over you who's as highly specialized and skilled as Taylor…"

" _Taylor_?" she interrupts. "I thought that he was just your driver?"

"Taylor is the head of my security force, both personal and professional. He's in charge of protecting all of my sites," I explain. "I have about seven satellite locations globally…three here in the states and four overseas. There are also the companies that we've acquired whose facilities must align with the security standard that Taylor has set."

"Wow," she gasps. "I didn't know he did all of that."

"Yes," I confirm, "so with that, the specialist that I hire to oversee your personal security will need to be able to think very strategically when it comes to your protection."

"Wait a minute," she sparks. "I think I might know of someone. He used to protect the head of Nike before budget cuts. He's also former military."

"Good," I say, somewhat impressed. "Text me his name and contact information, and I'll have Taylor run a background check and call him in for an interview."

I stop just short of asking Miss Steele how exactly she knows this proposed male candidate. My own jealousy even annoys _me_ at times.

* * *

ANA

 _Doug The Driver_ is who I imagine that my stepfather will be fifteen years from now. He's taciturn and extremely difficult to read, but adorable.

"I hate the I-5 bridge. This thing should be illegal," he grumbles as traffic is at a standstill. Normally afternoon traffic is this heavy coming out of Portland, not going into it. "You'd think they'd make a second bridge or widen this one. Who in the hell was the civil engineer that came up with this hair-brained solution?"

I chuckle and shake my head. "Your guess is as good as mine."

Normally the drive from campus to The Heathman takes about a half-hour. Today, it's looking like it'll be upwards of an hour and thirty minutes. Soon, I hear the faint sound of my phone ringing in my purse. I retrieve it and it's exactly who I suspect that it would be.

"Hey…"

"What's taking you so long?" Mr. Grey cuts me off.

"Traffic."

"Shit," he says under his breath.

"Hold on to your horses, cowboy," I gibe. "We'll be there before you know it."

I hear a laugh on the other end disguised as a sigh and I immediately wish that I were there to witness it in person. My heart skips a beat. "Well, while we're waiting, you can tell me what song you plan on dancing to tonight," he says.

"Why can't it just be a surprise?" I curb.

"I hate surprises." He practically sounds like Grouchy Smurf from the old cartoons.

I giggle. "You're no fun."

"You say that now, but just you wait. I'll show you _fun_ ," he purrs.

In an instant, a swarm of anticipation flutters inside of me.

"Why so quiet, Miss Steele? Cat got your tongue?" he goads silkily. And I want to tell him that it will be the other way around, but I remain discrete in the presence of Doug. We've just met today, after all, and I don't want to give him the wrong impression of me.

And at that thought, I instantly wonder if he's knows exactly why he's been hired by Seattle billionaire Christian Grey to pick me up from school in Vancouver and transport me over to a hotel in Portland every single Friday. I'm sure he has a hunch why. The butterfly flutters from earlier is soon replaced by nausea.

"You didn't answer my question," he utters. "What song will you be dancing to tonight?"

"Don't worry about it," I strike.

"What song?" he probes again. "Tell me."

 _Damn it, he's so frustrating._

"Led Zeppelin," I sigh, finally caving in. I've worked hard this week with Betsy on a sensual rock and roll dance that's sure to please. _Let's just hope that I get to the very end of the song this time._

"Oh?" he says, pleasantly surprised. "Which song?"

I lean my head back into the seat as my eyes roll to the back of my head. _"I Can't Quit You Baby,"_ I tell him. If that is not the most apropos song for the situation I currently find myself in, I don't know what is. The whole thing is amusing, yet sad.

"Great song choice," he murmurs, and my insides heat up from the sensual timbre in his voice. "I have five costumes for you to choose from today. I bet I can guess which one you'll wear with your dance."

" _Five_?" I say, taken aback by the sheer number of outfits.

"Yes. I provide the apparel, you provide the dance. Remember?" he says, almost as if he's speaking to a child. I wince.

"I know _that_ , but I wasn't expecting you to provide me with five separate outfits in one day," I say now flustered.

"You'll eventually go through at least five different costumes, so why is it an issue if I give them to you all at once? It allows you to have a choice."

 _He makes a fair point._ I let it go for the time being.

….

The moment I enter the suite, he greets me at the door with an embrace and a kiss. I nearly melt in his strong arms. He pulls away before I do, leaving me wanting. My eyes take in his sculpted figure, which I can still make out under the heather gray t-shirt and over-washed jeans. And his bare feet… _my god_ , I don't know why they are such a weak spot for me. I reach down deep within for the little that's left of my composure.

"I have something for you," he says.

I bet he does.

"Costumes?" I guess.

"That too. Everything's hanging in the closet. Here's what I'm speaking of…" he says with a smile before unraveling his loose fist. He gestures at me with just a head nod, urging me to stick out my hand. When I do, he drops something inside of it. My eyes grow wide when I recognize the black key fob with four horizontal connected silver rings etched on its surface.

"Um…what's _this_?" I gasp.

"A brand-new top of the line Audi A3. It's one of the safest vehicles in the market today. I hope you like red," he says silkily.

My nerves go into overdrive. "Mr. Grey…thank you so much…"

"You're welcome."

"…but I already have a car. It's brand new."

"That car wasn't for you," he says firmly.

His words startle me. _Why is he speaking in the past tense?_

"The Nissan Versa rated dead last in safety last year. That's why I had Taylor take it away to be sold. Your new car will be waiting for you at your school's commuter parking lot in its place."

I don't know what's more disturbing – him instructing his head of security to steal my car, sell it and replace it with this new one, or his nonchalance in telling me what he did.

 _Geez, he's fucking insane._

"I don't want this car," I snap, trying to give him back the key. He glares at me, refusing to take it. "I want _my_ car. I _like_ my car. I'm still making payments on it."

"It's paid off and is being sold tomorrow," he says, none-too-pleased with me.

"What?! And you did all of this without my knowledge?" I seethe.

"The Nissan is paid in full. The Audi, also paid in full, is in your name. Your credit history just took an excellent hit because it now shows record of _two_ paid-off vehicles. I finagled the system to be more of a benefit…"

"I don't care," I roar. I absolutely cannot believe him. The audacity of this man, controlling my life without letting me in on it. It surpasses frustrating.

"Miss Steele, there's no use fighting with me. You signed a contract that you should've read. All of this is in there." His countering anger rivals mine.

"You providing me with a car? _That's_ in there?" I raise my voice, challenging him.

"Yeah. It's there. It's clause nine in your Artist Agreement."

 _Fuck._ Well, I think that it would be in my best interest to finally sit down and read what I signed my life away to; but honestly, I don't know when I'll actually have the time to do it between schoolwork and dealing with this insufferable man. _Argh!_

I'm absolutely caught in between a rock and a hard place. My frustration and disorientation appear to be more than evident to him. He pulls me into his side and kisses me on the forehead while I fiddle with the unwanted key that I am now stuck with.

"Why don't we have dinner first before you change into costume," he suggests – although I know it's actually more of an order than a suggestion. His instant change of tone from pissed to even keel gives me whiplash. And there he goes again, making me eat first before I dance. I sincerely hope that I finally puke on him today. He deserves nothing less.

….

After dessert, I saunter over to the familiar master bedroom to change, and I'm puzzled to see that the bed looks sort of weird. The spare duvet that's normally stored away in the closet is loosely spread across the bed's surface. It's obviously something that Mr. Grey did himself and not housekeeping. _Perhaps he decided to take a short nap while he waited for me to get through traffic?_

I cease paying the bed more mind and approach the massive oak wardrobe off to the side. The doors pull open in opposite directions, and with a tug of the dangling chain, the light aluminates an assortment of fabrics in wonderful colors. I am blown away.

 _Holy shit, these are simply beautiful_ – I think to myself as I take out one royal blue ensemble while gawking at another dress that's pattern is reminiscent of a stunning cosmic sky. _Jesus, this man has impeccable taste._

On the floor of the wardrobe are a number high-heeled shoes and accessories. I'm overwhelmed. _Where are_ _ **his**_ _things? These are all for me._ Then I quickly remember that when I wake up in the morning, he won't actually be here.

 _We still need to work out that detail.  
I hope that he is open to revising that ridiculous contract. _

Before I get too far deep into the abyss of the bitter fact of what the situation truly is between Mr. Grey and myself, a costume immediately catches my eye.

 _This will work perfectly with the dance that I have planned for tonight._

* * *

CHRISTIAN

When Mrs. Steele finally emerges from the bedroom, I am more than pleasantly surprised. I guessed correctly – she decided on the black tuxedo jacket with purple satin cuffs and black satin boy shorts to go with her Led Zeppelin number. And to my absolute delight, she decided to not wear anything underneath the jacket. Her beautiful breasts tease the opening, and the first button fastens just underneath them. But what takes my breath away even more is that she decided to wear black fishnet stockings along with the black strapped Manolo Blahniks.

 _She looks tasty enough to eat._

As I sit back in my normal spot in the main room, I take a pull from my glass of wine before gently placing it down on the nearby coffee table – not taking my eyes off of her. I'm hypnotized by the way her hips sway back and forth in heels as she presses play on the audio dock.

Suddenly, Robert Plant starts crooning the blues and Anastasia slowly spins away from me with ankles crossed. And once her hands go up her body and into her hair, her legs spread beyond shoulder-length apart, and her ass bends towards me as her head and hands drop down between her thighs. Once the guitar lick kicks in, she spins back around and shows me that beautiful, sexy, determined face. I am reeling.

Soon, she's down on her knees working the floor in intricate ways. Her skill never ceases to amaze me. Miss Steele is masterful in what she does. And like her, I'm lost in the music. I am lost in her interpretation of a blues classic revived by British rock legends. I am lost in this woman, who's the only thing that matters whenever she is in my presence.

Eventually, she springs up from the floor and I am astonished that she's able to pirouette in those shoes. She makes it look so effortless; so…natural. I watch her entire dance enraptured. I barely move. I barely breathe. I'm taken away by her fluidity, her care to the movement…the entranced expression on her face as her body tells the story of a man who's addicted to a bad woman like a drug. And for some reason, I can completely relate to this sorry man's plight. My newest addiction is currently doing the interpretive dance.

If it were any other girl, I wouldn't even dream of being in Portland more than a few times a year. Although it was always my intention to obtain SNA Corp, I had no plans to make an office for myself here in Portland. If it weren't for my willingness to pay Miss Steele regular visits, I would've just appointed a trustworthy head and been totally done with Portland.

There's also my brand-new relationship with WSU Vancouver's Department of Agriculture. Miss Steele isn't aware that I've been working behind the scenes recently with her university. I made the call to begin the grant process with the institution, not only because I was impressed with what they were doing, but the fact that Anastasia is also student there sealed the deal for me.

As the song comes to an end in a roar of guitar and cymbals, Miss Steele's body rides the wave, rocking her arms, legs, ass and hips hard. It's not until the song stops that I realize that she's never once moved the dance over to me and in my lap. This dance was intended to be selfish, yet she still managed to pull me in with her from across the room.

"Come here," I command her as she's panting in a standstill. After a few beats, she does.

I don't give her a chance to sit. I pull her down into my lap and I kiss her madly. Her arms hook around my neck as my hands smooth up and down her back until they go up and clasp her wild chestnut hair. I really want to try something different with her tonight. I hope she doesn't object since I've already gone through the trouble to prepare the room.

"I hope you're open to trying something new," I say as soon as our lips smack apart. My mouth drops down to the sheen in between her breast and she moans.

"Like what?" she gasps.

Instead of responding, I spring up to my feet, taking her with me in my arms. We kiss hard as I carry her into the bedroom, shutting the door behind us. When we reach the bed, I pull the top cover off. We continue to kiss while standing for a beat. When we stop, she looks down and I can feel her body leap.

In the bed are four elastic and leather straps coming out from underneath the mattress and leading out towards the center of the bed.

"I want to restrain you. Are you open to that?" I croon as I kiss her lips. She's still in shock.

"Well…I…" She has no words.

"I won't hurt you…I promise," I reassure her, kissing her forehead.

"I don't know about that," she chuckles nervously.

 _What does she mean?  
Why would she say that? _

"You don't trust me?" I say, affronted.

"No…I do," she says, backtracking. "Yes. Sure. I'm okay with it."

 _Thank god._

In no time, I'm laying her down on the bed and peeling off all her clothes before cuffing each of her limbs to the mattress. It's not until I get undressed when I realize that I've failed to remove her Manolo Blahniks and fishnets. _Oh well, they'll have to remain._ When I lean down and rip her stockings apart at the crotch, she gasps. I respond with a hungry grin before turning behind me and opening up the bedside drawer to remove a black satin eye mask.

"Blindfold?" she gasps as she's stretches forward from the bed.

"Lie all the way down," I tell her. "When you obstruct one sense, the other senses are heightened." I see the doubt etched on her gorgeous face as she reluctantly lays back down. "Trust me. You'll see."

I climb into bed and straddle her naked hips with mine. When I extend the elastic band of the mask above her head, she automatically lifts to assist me. Once the mask is on, my hands and mouth have a mind of their own, touching, grabbing, licking, sucking over every inch of exposed skin on her body. She writhes, violently tugging on her restraints as my mouth reaches her sex.

 _Oh yes, this is exactly how I like her – tied down and at my total mercy._

I work my magic, squeezing her breast with one hand while teasing her sex with the other along with my mouth, lapping up all of her sweet nectar. It takes no time at all to get her to where I want her to be. She cries out as she comes. Immediately, I'm on my knees in between her widely spread thighs and pushing into her.

 _"_ _Ah!"_

"Oh yes," I exhale as I sink in further. "I love how wet you are just after you come. I relish in the sight of you coming, Anastasia."

 _"_ _Ohhh…"_

"I adore watching myself move in and out of you," I tell her as I pick up the pace, thrusting forward.

 _"_ _Uhhhhhhh…"_

"With your cream nice and slick on my dick," I grunt, moving faster at the erotic sight. She cries out even more.

"Fuck yes," I say through gritted teeth. "I love mixing mine with yours." She whimpers at my words. "I can't get enough of you," I declare as I move even faster. "And you feel even tighter than before. How is that?"

 _"_ _Ahhh!"_

 _Seriously – how come she's so firm today? Has she been doing Kegels?_  
I table the thought.

 _"_ _Yeah…yeah..."_ I gasp out in time to my thrusts. She's being held captive by the restraints, and I am completely taken by the helpless yet euphoric sight of her. "Oh, fuck yeah," I breathe. "This is _all mine_. Take this cock, Anastasia."

It doesn't take much longer before she falls apart. I dig my claws into her hips as I feel her closing in all around me.

"That's right," I gravel. "Come. All. Over. Me."

After I say the words, she's screaming out her release. I don't stop moving. She goes insane.

"Oh my god!" she cries.

"That's it, baby," I growl, leaning in closer to her. "I'm going to make you do that again," I promise as my lips take her throat.

….

An hour goes by and Miss Steele is now freed from the cuffs. We now lie entangled in one another as I massage her wrists. Her wild hair rests firmly on my shoulder.

"It's astounding to watch you get better and better each week," I tell her. I see her beautiful long lashes flutter at my word as her head shifts to look at me. " _Dancing_ ," I clarify with a sly smirk. Her sweet giggle sends a shiver down my spine. "Well…the other goes without saying," I throw in. She immediately blushes.

"I can't get over how you remained a virgin all this time," I throw in. "You're sublime." I kiss the crown of her head.

Blushing even more, she only hunches her shoulders in a reply. This woman is a walking contradiction. She can be as shy as she wants to be, yet when she turns on that spark of fire – be it in dance or in an argument – the contrast is like night and day.

"Seriously, no one at school has tried to put the moves on you?" I ask in good humor. Suddenly, her sweet innocence starts to slowly fade. She begins to look uncomfortable. My spidey-senses instantly tingle. "What?" I nudge her. "Tell me."

"It's nothing, really," she sighs. I don't believe her, so I let her know with a chastening stare. "A guy…a guy at my birthday party nearly two months ago," she finally pushes out. I twist myself to get a better look at her, and her head flops off of my shoulder, which she catches before it hits the mattress. My hands still on her wrists.

"Did you make out with a guy?" I inquire. I can feel my temperature rising, and not in a good way. _Settle down, Grey. This was before she met you._

"No," she says, bitterly.

"So, what happened?"

Miss Steele closes her eyes as if she's struggling to tell the story. "Everyone was drunk. They just got done surprising me at the apartment after work on my birthday, and we all ended up drinking too much. One of my closest friends, a guy, was a little too forceful. I made him leave."

"Who. Is. It." The ominous tone in my voice visibly frightens her.

"He apologized for weeks about it. We're just finally getting past it..."

"Who in the fuck is it?" I seethe. "I want a name."

"Whoa, whoa," she says, placating me with both hands raised. "Settle down, Rambo."

* * *

ANA

I am genuinely frightened right now by the extent of this man's rage. Steam is practically seeping out of his ears and nostrils. We were having a rare post-coital tender moment since I'm normally passed out in a deep sleep around this time, but things quickly turn south.

 _I should've kept my big mouth shut.  
Now he'll never let this go._

"Who is he," he repeats, enraged.

I don't want him pushing the issue even further. Instead, I use a rogue diversion tactic. Nothing like avoiding one argument and segueing right into another.

"I don't want to talk about that. Let's talk about your issue with sleeping with me after sex, instead. I don't get it," I sauce. The distraction absolutely works. His expression changes from furious to firm. He's still not pleased, but it's an improvement from the former.

"What is there to get?" he lobs. "It's written in our contract."

The stupid ass contract that I didn't read is getting on my last nerve. Why would he even include a clause about not _sleeping with me_ if it wasn't a sexual contract to begin with?

"Why? Why is it in there?" I say, practically whining.

At this point we are both sitting up in bed. I keep modest, wrapping myself in the duvet while Mr. Grey's chiseled chest is exposed. The night light seeps through the sliver in between the curtains and its sheen magnifies several dull round scars, just smaller than a dime, on the surface of his chest. I've never paid any notice to them before. I can tell that they are fairly old. _I wonder how he got them?_ I remember myself and instead focus on his narrow gray eyes.

"I don't sleep with _anyone_ , Miss Steele," he says point blank. "It's just the way that I've always been."

I so want to tell him that it makes me feel beyond cheap whenever I wake up in this bed and he's not here. He never tells me where he goes when he leaves me. So many thoughts begin to parse my mind.

 _Will he ever change? If he doesn't change, there's no way in hell this man could ever get married._ I idly wonder what his thoughts on marriage are. _He's approaching thirty, yet he's still behaving like a child._ When my head lowers down at the thought, his hand immediately goes into my hair, caressing it.

 _I'm such an idiot_ – I think to myself as I fall into his touch. Soon we are kissing, which leads into sex one last time before I fall fast asleep.

….

 _"_ _Oh, baby…I love making you scream," he purrs as he drives into me, over and over again._

I clench my thighs as I recall last Friday night with Christian Grey. I return back to earth and look around to see my classmates standing up to exit class. I shake off the lingering fantasy and stand to collect my things.

When I step outside of the building where I take all of my lit classes, I spot my good friend Belinda walking in my direction, and she notices me, too.

"Hey!" she greets with a loving grin. The two of us hug. "Long time, no see."

"Yeah, I know. I've been really busy," I tell her.

"That sucks. I miss hanging out with you. You wanna do something next week on Friday?"

"I'm sorry," I say most awkwardly. "I've gotta work on Fridays." I feel a blush coming on at the thought of the reality of what I'll actually be doing for ' _work'_ , but I mask it.

"What about this Saturday, then?" she proposes.

" _Eh_ …" I shrug, "…I'm not so sure about Saturday." I'm uncertain if Mr. Grey will be in town for the entire weekend, or if he'll still be knee deep in his project back home in Seattle. "I'll let you know Saturday morning if work falls through."

"What about this Thursday?" she tosses out there.

 _Damn it_ – Thursday nights are when I meet Betsy at the dance studio.

"Thursday doesn't work either, I'm afraid," I say regretfully.

"Hell, Ana. That new job of yours is really demanding."

 _I'd say._

"How is the babysitting gig going anyway?" Belinda asks.

My lips awkwardly purse. "Well…you know how little boys can be. Selfish. Overly possessive. Intolerable at times," I say illusively.

 _If only she knew._

Belinda laughs. "It doesn't really change all that much when they get older."

I laugh along with her. " _True that._ So – where are you headed right now?"

"I have a two-hour break in between classes," she tells me.

"So, do I," I smile. "You wanna go grab a bite to eat across campus?"

"Yeah," she perks. "Let's go."

Belinda and I begin our side by side stroll on this rare pleasant, sunny day. It's October and normally that's when all of the sucky weather kicks into high gear.

"Hey, speaking of _boys_ – I just started seeing this guy I met at the bar not too far from here," she tells me.

"Oh, really," I say, beaming at her.

"We've been chatting on the phone since. He's met me a half hour here and there when I'm not having class, but we have our first official date this Friday." The anticipatory expression on her face is infectious as we approach an area of campus where the crowd of walking students have thinned out.

"That's great," I squeak. "I want to hear all about it."

"For sure," she beams.

Suddenly, a movement in the corner of my eye catches my attention and I turn. Across the way, I see a familiar stocky male with dirty blonde hair, blue t-shirt, and dark sweatpants. He looks oblivious to us as he walks slowly, diddling around on his phone.

 _Yeah, that's right – I saw him earlier this morning._ And just like before, he's not carrying a backpack or anything else that makes me believe that he's a student here.

"What?" Belinda whispers, staring at me before looking at the strange guy who's not paying us any mind.

"Just keep walking," I tell her as I grab her arm. I can tell that she's alarmed by my edgy behavior, but she keeps on talking anyhow.

"He's an entry-level marketing guy that graduated from Gonzaga last year. He lives in Vancouver but works in Portland," she says as we stroll on. "His job lets him work home twice a week, which is why we get to hang out during the day from time to time."

"That's really cool," I say genuinely.

"Hey," she says softly, "what's the deal with that guy back there, anyway?"

I sigh, letting out a nervous chuckle. "I saw him earlier. I thought that I was being followed."

"Seriously?" she says, concerned.

"Yeah," I say, almost ashamed to admit it.

I so happen to turn behind me, and I immediately spot the same guy about ten yards away from us. I practically jump out of my skin.

 _How in the hell did he get back there?!  
He was just walking in the opposite direction! _

I speed up.

"Ana? What's going on?" Belinda says, catching up to me.

"That guy behind us is following me," I gasp.

The second Belinda turns and sees him, he starts running toward us. Both she and I instantly take off.

"Oh my god! What do you scream when someone's chasing you? _Help_? _Rape_?" Belinda pants.

"I don't know, but keep running," I tell her.

The creepy asshole is hot on our tail as Belinda and I find ourselves approaching a dead end of a building back where deliveries normally go. As we stop, Belinda pulls out her phone from her jean jacket pocket.

"I'm calling the cops!" she screams out, frantically gliding her fingertips across the touchscreen.

However, the fuckwad running towards us isn't fazed. As soon as he reaches us, we begin screaming at the top of our lungs. The guy doesn't even flinch, instead he greets us with an evil grin. But before we can even blink, a fit black woman in a t-shirt and jeans fucking pops up out of nowhere and leg sweeps our would-be assailant to the ground. Belinda and me gasp.

In no time, the two are on the hard pavement, fighting and struggling until the woman knocks him out with a single blow. I gape at her. _Who the hell is she? Where did she come from?_ The woman stands and straightens out her clothes and hair as if nothing happened. She then approaches the us.

"Oh my god… _thank you_ ," Belinda gasps in sheer relief.

The woman nods at Belinda before turning to me.

"Sorry about that, Miss Steele," she says, all professional like. I am flabbergasted.  
 _She knows who I am._

"Who are you?" I breathe, feeling battered even though I hadn't been touched. "Do you work from Mr. Grey?"

The woman then says with a straight face, "Have a nice day, ladies," before turning around to walk away, leaving her victim laying there cold. Belinda and I look at each other in shock before we quickly scurry away from our passed-out stalker.

* * *

CHRISTIAN

"What took you so long to call me back?" I snap. I swivel my chair around and face out into the sunny Seattle skyline, however I'm feeling anything _but_.

"Well, hello to you too, Mr. Grey," sasses Miss Steele. "I was in class when you called."

"This is no joking matter. You were being chased around campus," I say, irritated.

"I figured you already knew what happened to me. So, did you hire the woman who kicked that jerks ass?" she says in almost an accusatory tone.

"Yes, I did, but unfortunately Ms. Prescott can't remain with you on a full-time basis. We need to get your permanent CPO onboarded and in position right away. Dark's playing extra dirty now," I remark with spite.

"Did you contact Luke Sawyer?" Miss Steele inquires.

"Taylor is still interviewing him and running his background, but so far, so good. In the meantime, I would advise you to not go anywhere except home, school, or wherever Taylor or Doug drives you. That also includes the dance studio."

"Excuse me?" she gasps.

"You heard me," I reply sternly. "Home. School. Dance studio. Heathman. That's it."

"But Dark doesn't want to kill me," she says in frustration. "He only wants to catch me hanging out with you. That's all."

"That fucker was _chasing you_ ," I snarl through gritted teeth. "The situation has surpassed just snapping a photograph of you and me."

" _God_ ," she groans. "You expect me to not go _anywhere_ with my friends?"

"Not while this asshole is on the loose," I snap. "Home. School. Studio. Heathman. Am I making myself clear." She says nothing. "Anastasia. Answer me," I demand.

" _Fine_. Okay," she acquiesces.

* * *

ANA

The next day as I stroll on campus, I'm automatically on high alert. Getting chased around by a psycho can do that to a girl.

Yesterday, Belinda had so many questions and I couldn't answer any of them because I signed an NDA. It also wouldn't be good to let a good friend in on all the crazy shit I've been going through for the past two months. And I definitely don't want Kate to find out. _That bitch is crazy._

I'm deep in thought when I spot a girl excitedly waving two floppy arms in my direction. Next to her is a very tall and fit man. My eyes zoom in closer and I make out the glowing red hair pulled back into a ponytail.

 _Oh my god!_ – I excite.  
 _It's Becky!_

She and I run towards each other and tightly embrace as soon as we meet.

"Oh my gosh, girl," she breathes. "I've missed you _sooo_ much."

"Me too," I sigh, squeezing her even tighter. We eventually pull apart.

"So…" she starts with a scandalous smile. "…you've been in some shit, haven't you?"

I immediately start cracking up. "To say the least," I toss in.

"Oh, let me introduce you to my guy, who'll hopefully be working for you soon," she says proudly placing a hand on his bulging bicep. " _Lon_ …I'm sorry," she chuckles, immediately stopping herself. I laugh, too. "Ana, meet Luke Sawyer. _Luke_ , Ana Steele." My eyes land on a tall, strong drink of water with thick dark shortly-cut hair.

 _Jesus, Becky – you did good._

"Hi," I say, extending my hand, which he grabs immediately and firmly.

"Hello, ma'am."

My eyes narrow in response. _Ma'am?_

"You'll get used to it," laughs Becky. "Old soldier habits die hard."

"What brings you two here?" I ask.

"Well, we were in the neighborhood, so we decided to press our luck and see if we could catch you roaming around. I know it's like finding a needle in a haystack being that I don't know your class schedule. But hey, look at us," she beams.

Luke smiles as well and tugs his girl into his side. It's simply one of the most adorable things that I have ever seen. And although he towers over his love, they still look perfect together.

"Miss Steele," Luke speaks. "I'm still in talks with Mr. Taylor, but I haven't heard anything as of late. I was wondering if you knew when a decision would be made."

"I reckon that it would happen much sooner than later, given what took place yesterday," I say quietly.

"I heard," Luke nods. "Mr. Taylor told me."

Becky gapes at the two of us. "What happened?"

"I'll tell you later," I assure her.

"I'm not certain if the job will be longer than temporary," Luke interjects. "I'd be curious because the amount being offered will be more than enough to support me and Becky so that she can quit Zion." He then lowers his head to catch the uncertain look on his girl's face. "Miss Steele did right by quitting. I'd wish you'd do the same before they try and make you dance again like they forced her."

"I'm trying," Becky sighs before lowering her head. He squeezes her into his side once more.

"Jay Dark and L-Mo are awful," I bitterly spout off. "I've been trying to get her to leave, too." My stern eyes land on a rarely skittish Becky.

"Well, after what happened to you, I will make certain that she quits very soon," Luke says with resolve.

….

"I can't believe fucking Dark has people following you…and at school, no less. What, does he expect Christian Grey to just show up to walk you to class?"

"I have no idea, but Mr. Grey seems to think that Dark wants to physically harm me."

"I don't see that," she counters. "That's not his style."

Becky and I sit at a table chatting away at the campus café, while Luke stands in the super long line waiting to order our tea and coffee.

On the way here, I witnessed the subtle PDA between Becky and Luke _. I adore them together and I long for the very same thing for myself one of these days._ A dull ache is evident in the deepest part of me at the thought.

 _When will I stop being the weekend girl?  
_ Becky's words pull me out of the abyss.

"So, check this out. Today…me, Bam, Starla, and Elaine all have the night off. I mean that _never_ happens, right?"

I gape at her. "Wow, seriously?"

"Yep. So, the four of us are thinking about visiting that new nightclub that's not too far from work. How 'bout you join us?"

Right away, my heart sinks. "I can't."

"Why not? All of the girls miss you. They'll be so thrilled to see you."

"I miss them too," I say, pained.

"Well, come meet us for a couple of hours. I know it's a school night for you, so we promise not to keep you out too late. How about from eight until ten? That's all."

Man, Becky certainly knows how to drive a hard bargain, but I can't do it. Mr. Grey gave me very strict orders. "Until Luke starts as my security, I need to lay low for the time being," I say regretfully.

"Says who? Mr. Grey?" she says with a very skeptical eye. I don't respond with words. My face says it all. "What in the world's going on between you two, anyway? Have you been _seeing_ him? Is that what this is all about?"

The hope simmering in Becky's eyes is more than evident, but I'm going to have to break her heart. I signed an NDA, so I can't tell her a damn thing. So, what do I do to evade the question?

"Two hours tonight. That's all. I'll meet you girls there," I say in a firm tone. Becky leaps in her seat in delight.

" _Yes_! The gang's all back!"

I smile as a thought crosses my mind.  
 _What if I bring someone along?  
It could be a two-fold benefit._

"Can I bring a friend?" I ask.

"Kate?" she gapes.

"Hell no. Someone else." I shudder at the thought of Kate meeting my Zion friends.

"Sure! _The more, the merrier_ – is what I always say."

….

"Thanks for driving," I beam as the two of us bypass the velvet rope and stroll towards the two gigantic bouncers that greet us at the door.

"No problem," Sasha says, pulling out her ID from her wristlet. She obviously knows what comes next. I follow suit and we show them our identification before they usher us in. Thankfully there is no cover charge for women on Tuesdays. It's perfect that _Ladies' Night_ and a long overdue Zion reunion with my faves so happen to fall on the same day.

"Oh my gosh – this is _nice_ ," Sasha gasps as we step into the club. "I'm surprised that I haven't come here sooner." The club has a very futuristic feel. The music is actually _really_ good. The people are already out on the floor dancing early on a Tuesday, for crying out loud.

I catch a litter of hands waving up in the air off to the side. It's my four friends from Zion, camped out on an L-shaped sofa. We all squeal as soon as I get there. One by one, I hug Bambi, Elaine, Starla, and Becky.

"I've missed you _soooo_ much, _London Bridge_ ," Starla coos, kissing me hard on the cheek. We hug once more.

"Girls, this is my friend Sasha," I announce, pulling Sasha in closer to the group by gripping her wrist. "Sasha, this is Elaine, Starla, Becky, and Bambi."

"I'm Miranda," Bambi corrects me with a warm smile as she extends a hand to Sasha.

"Oh yeah… _sorry_ ," I giggle. "I haven't gotten used to calling you that."

"Nice to meet you, Sasha," Starla says warmly, and right away, I know that these girls are going to make her feel at home, just as they made me since the very day I started working at Zion.

"I still call her _Bam_. I don't give a shit," sasses Becky, and we all laugh.

"And we've been practicing all day saying _'Ana'_ ," giggles Starla. I chuckle at the irony.

"Have a seat, girls," Elaine urges Sasha and me. "We have a bottle of wine on the way, courtesy of _that_ guy," she adds, pointing to the grinning dude seated at the bar straight ahead. He kindly tilts his hat over at us and we wave in thanks.

"I'm not fucking him," Becky spouts. I grin through my gape while Sasha and the others start cracking up. "I'm taken." Becky then looks over to Starla and Miranda.

" _Nope_ ," the two of them say in unison. We laugh even louder.

"Looks like he won't be getting a return on his investment," Elaine concludes. She looks up at the cute female waitress in the short black skirt who drops down the bucket right next to her. Elaine pulls out the bottle. " _Damn_ – he ordered us Dom Perignon? That dude's going to want to fuck something by the end of the night."

We all lose it.

"Holy shit!" Sasha cries out in between her laughter. She's already made herself at home with the girls, and I'm loving it.

As Elaine pops open the cork and pour out the sparkling wine, I scan the sofa admiring the five gorgeous women in my presence. Miranda, aka Bambi is as sexy as always with her stylish black bob. She's wearing painted-on jeans and a white buttoned-down shirt that leaves little to the imagination. Blonde Starla is in a white spaghetti tank top and Daisy Dukes, looking the perfect combination of naughty and nice.

Then we have Elaine, the other blonde and mother of the bunch. She's in fuchsia slacks and a multi-colored blouse that ties up in the front, looking every bit of the vixen that she is. Then there's Becky, the firecracker. I find it hard to believe that Luke let her out of the house in those black satin hot pants and cropped white tee with _Genius of Love_ etched across it in a cartoon-esque font.

And then there's Sasha and me, two brunettes who just might be a bit slightly overdressed in comparison to everyone else. Sasha dons the cutest jade tulle skirt and multi-colored blouse, while I'm wearing a black sleeveless, off-the-shoulder wrapped body suit with white asymmetric bell bottoms that flare just above the ankles. _Just something a certain someone gave me._

"Holy shit, Ana…you look fucking fantastic," Elaine gapes at me again.

"I know, right?" echoes Starla.

"She looks _amazing_ ," gushes Miranda.

"I was floored when she came out to the car," beams Sasha. "I've never seen her dress like this before. I mean, Ana's always been a cutie, but…"

"But _goddamn_!" Miranda bursts out. The girls laugh as I sit turning eight shades of red. I'm certainly not used to this sort of praise, especially not from other women.

"Exactly!" laughs Sasha.

"Wait," Becky says, putting out a hand to settle down the group. "Ana, is there anything else you would like to share with the group? Perhaps the reason why you are wearing such fancy clothes? Could it because of… _I don't know_ …a certain hot and hunky billionaire, perhaps?"

While the other girls of Zion gaze at me with anticipatory eyes, while Sasha gapes at me with a wide mouth having no clue what the hell Becky's talking about.

"No. I have nothing to share," I say with a straight face that gives absolutely nothing away.

" _Aww man_!" Becky says, bummed out. "Well, at least I tried."

"Darn it," huffs Elaine.

I simply shrug my shoulders and take another sip from my glass.

….

 _Why did I even dare ask the girls about work?_

We're currently on our second bottle of wine. Since Becky is paying for this round, we don't stick with the Dom. I chuckle to myself at the thought of a certain _dom_ who's hopefully resting away comfortably in Seattle, and out of my hair.

"It's gotten much worse since you left," Elaine chimes.

"Really?" I say, unsettled.

"I'm having to work double shifts," says Starla.

"Why is that?" I say with a raised voice. "That makes absolutely no sense. I wasn't even a dancer."

"But many have heard about you, which brought in a whole new wave of clientele," Miranda chimes. My heart immediately sinks.

"We've started rehearsals about a week ago for group numbers," Starla groans. "Management wants us to start utilizing that stage every single weekend."

I sink into my chair. "My gosh, I'm so sorry girls. If I knew that all of this would happen, I would've never did what I did."

Elaine nods. "Yeah, I know it sucks for us right now and all, but I was so glad I was there that night you danced to witness sheer fucking greatness."

"Yeah…me too," the other three girls from Zion echo one another.

"Oh, my goodness," gasps Sasha. "You danced? Out in the open?"

"I told you, remember?" I say quietly to my collegemate sitting next to me on my left. "That's why I was being pushed to dance. That's why I am now being followed." Sasha's expression falls at the realization.

"You're being followed?!" Elaine says in shock. Both Starla and Miranda's expression mirror hers.

I nod. "When I first walked into those doors two months ago for work, I was told that all I needed to do was wait tables. And then I ended up dancing privately for _one man_ ," I say with emphasis.

"My fault," Becky says, raising her hand in guilt. "I made her do it." Elaine, Miranda and Starla laugh, while Sasha appears to be as torn as I feel.

"I could've said no," I add. "But I didn't. Once I opened that door, Lauren and Jay Dark were scheming to get top dollar for me to dance, no matter who was willing to pay for it."

"Assholes," I hear Sasha grumble under her breath, however the other girls don't catch wind of it.

"I wished I were thinking straight that night," Starla says with sincere regret. "I should've stopped you. I knew what was coming next."

"Me too," Miranda echoes. "Back when I was working in that law office, I wanted nothing more than to dance. But when I took my newfound talent to Zion, Lauren and Mr. Dark exploited it."

 _Whoa._ The shit just got real. I say nothing. I do nothing but listen.

"I constantly had to dance for men that I didn't want to dance for. VIP clients," Miranda adds.

"Their filthy, disgusting hands all over you in the private room. And if they're VIP, there is absolutely nothing you can do about it," Starla cringes.

My head shamefully turns away and I catch as Becky's gaze fall down to the table. "That one night I came home from work after dancing in Private Row," she starts to say quietly as the music thumps all around us, "I was crying. I felt so…so _dirty_. Luke wasn't able to get a single word out of me. That next morning, Luke was up there at Zion telling management that I was no longer dancing. Either I would waitress, or I was resigning. I never even told Luke what happened, but he knew. And even though I loved dancing so fucking much, I'm so glad that Luke did what he did."

Holy shit.

"I wished that _I_ had a _Luke_ ," sighs Starla. Miranda soberly nods in agreement.

I'm trying my hardest to hold back tears as Elaine wraps her arm around a reflective Becky. _Oh my god – this is so terrible. Way worse than I ever imagined._

"What about the panic button?" I push out through the nauseating feeling.

"It might as well be a broken toy whistle," frowns Miranda. "Security never barges into a private room if there's a high paying client in there."

"Jay Dark knew exactly what he was doing when he mandated STD testing," growls Elaine.

I shudder at the thought of almost being locked inside of the VIP room with Neumann and the idea of no one rushing in to save me if he so happened to put the moves on me. I really want to know if he's one of those handsy creeps that the girls are talking about, but I'm too afraid to ask. I definitely won't be able to sleep tonight if I knew how close I was to being violated.

 _Oh no._ I push the sick feeling down even further.

" _What_?!" Sasha pipes up in shock.

"Can we change the subject?" suggests a visibly shaken Starla.

Saying exactly what I am thinking Sasha finally asks, "Why don't you girls quit, too?"

"I wish I could," Starla begins, "but my entire family is depending on me."

"Me too," says Miranda, echoing Starla's sentiment. "My father had a bout with colon cancer last year, and now my mom is dealing with lupus. I'm responsible for all of their medical expenses."

I can't hold it back any longer. The tears start to stream down from my eyes.

"Ana, stop it," Miranda says with forced laughter as she reaches over Starla to gently daub my eyes with a cloth napkin.

"I'm so sorry," I gasp through the tears.

"They're doing well for now. Thankfully." And Miranda's reassuring words and accompanying smile does its job to encourage me.

"Well, when all's said and done, I will make certain that the disgusting abuse never happens to you girls again."

Even though the club is noisy, this sofa is dead silent as all eyes fall on the person who last spoke: Sasha.

"I'm Sasha House, formerly Sasha Dark. Jay Dark is my father."

"My god, I _knew_ you looked familiar," gasps Becky. "You're way hotter than your dad, of course. Well, your father isn't even _hot_ , but you certainly are," she rambles nervously. I'm way too emotional to even laugh at her right now.

"You knew Jay Dark's daughter?" Starla gapes at me with wide eyes.

"I've known Sasha for years, but we just recently made the connection," I tell the group.

"Holy shit," gasps Elaine.

"Don't worry, my father and I are _not_ on good terms," Sasha reassures the girls. "And as soon as we get proof that Zion belonged to Jay Dark four years ago, my mom's taking that shit away from him."

I look around as the eyes of those who still work at Zion perk up with hope.

"Zion's been around for over six years," Elaine confirms. "I started working there not too long before the doors first opened. And yes, your father was and always has been the sole owner."

Sasha turns to me. "Now all we need to do is prove it." She then turns and looks at the other girls. "And we will. The moment my mom gets ahold of that club, all of the bullshit will stop."

"I certainly hope so," Starla says longingly.

….

" _Nooooo_!" I whine as Starla tugs at one of my arms and Miranda grabs the other as Rihanna's _Rude Boy_ turns the club up several octaves.

"You totally have Bam's opening shuffle down pat," Becky piles on. "You know that shit like the back of your hand. Look, I'm going out there to do it, too."

"But the last time I danced in public, it was a total disaster," I pout.

"Girl, shut up," Becky says, brushing me off. "Everyone's dancing here. Nobody cares."

She's right. I'm being too dramatic here.

"Elaine, love – tell the dee-jay to put on the song. You know the one," Miranda says to her with a wink.

"I sure do!" Elaine beams excitedly as she heads on over to the dee-jay booth.

"I finally get to see you dance?" Sasha says in sheer excitement.

"I don't know…"

"Yes!" both Becky and Miranda say, nearly shouting at me. I laugh.

" _Fine_ ," I say, caving in.

" _Yay_!" the girls call out in a cheer. I grumble under my breath like a curmudgeon.

I'm just glad that this wine is starting to kick in. Hopefully I'll forget all about tonight by tomorrow.

Soon I find myself in the center of a crowded dance floor, holding hands with Starla and Miranda. Becky's in the mix, too. "Y'all ready?" she says. As the two girls holding my hands respond in the affirmative, I roll my eyes. Becky pokes my shoulder and says, "Oh, get out of here. You were born ready."

I shake my head just as the dee-jay begins to jabber over the fading music.

"I just got a special request and was promised that it would get very _spicy_ up in here if I played it. You know me – I'm all about the hotness! So here we go! Look out, fellas because it's definitely _Ladies' Night_!"

"Oh Jesus, please don't play no goddamn _Kool and the Gang_. My grandma ain't here for this," I hear a disgruntled female's voice say. Both me and Miranda look up and our eyeballs nearly jump out of their sockets when we see that the owner of that voice is no other than Sweetness, Zion's beloved bartender.

"Oh my god, what are you doing here?!" gasps Miranda. Starla and Becky quickly turn to catch who we're looking at, and they're equally stunned.

" _Whutttt_?" Sweetness gapes tilting her body backwards in surprise. She's wearing tight leather pants and a matching jacket. "What are all of you bitches doing here?" The five of us crowd in for a group hug. "Oh, my goodness, it's _London Bridge_!" she beams, hugging me again separately.

"Who's left at work if we're all here?" says Becky.

"I don't know, and I certainly don't give a damn," sasses Sweetness. We all crack up.

As soon as the a cappella singing to the oh so familiar Zion staple, Missy Elliott's _One Minute Man_ , kicks in, Sweetness gapes at the four of us.

" _Awwwwwww_ snap! The jam's on! Are y'all out here to do the do?"

"You know it. Why don't you join us?" Miranda challenges her with a wide grin.

"Bet!" Sweetness winks, stepping away from her unknown puzzled female friend she was initially here with.

And just as if we rehearsed it together for months, the five of us line up side by side, facing away from the dee-jay booth. As soon as the beat drops, the five of us squat and begin to sway our hips in unison. Soon, each of our hands go up and rest on the lower backs of the dancers closest to our sides. Starla and Miranda touch mine, and I touch theirs, and down the line as the five of us girls move as a chain to the beat.

" _Awwww shiiiiiiittt_!" the dee-jay calls out. "Make way, dancefloor! These ladies definitely mean business!"

Soon, the dance floor parts open like the Red Sea, leaving the five of us girls in the center of it all. In a split second, starting with Starla in the front of the line, we each turn our heads over to the side one by one before we each rub a single ass cheek. The crowd goes berserk.

Each of our left hands eventually fall down to on our neighbor's left ass cheek as we all drop down into a robotic booty-rock in time to the hard-hitting beat. From my periphery, I spot Sasha going wild in the sidelines, but I'm unable to separate her hooting and hollering from everyone else's. The cheers most certainly egg me on.

We're teasing the crowd, dropping as one, popping as one, locking as one. The many times we've all seen Bambi do this very dance, it hadn't really dawned on us to work it out as a group. It's _so_ natural. Soon, Bambi – _sorry_ – Miranda taps my shoulder, urging me emerge to the forefront. Without making a fuss, I drop down to my knees and slide ahead of the group, and the screams surrounding us get even louder.

The moves that the girls are doing on their feet, I do the same while on my knees. We're dropping our bottoms rocking up and down. But once we show the crowd that all five of us girls can isolate each butt cheek to the rhythm, the crowd cheers grow deafening.

 _"_ _Holy shit!"_

 _"Oh snap!"_

 _"_ _Mama mia!"_

 _"_ _Fuck me up!"_

Those were just some of the cat calls that I was able to make out, but I keep on dancing. Suddenly, I'm rolling down and twisting my front out to the audience as the other girls above me move in the same direction, and we all slap our asses at once. The dancefloor roars once again.

I flip around and rock up to my high heels and dance one way, as the other girls – two on one side of me, two on the other – do the very same dance facing in the opposite direction.

 _"_ _Dope!"_ one bystander raves.

 _"_ _Are these dancers hired by the club? They're soooo good_!" I hear another say.

 _Not at this club, I'm afraid._ I smile at the thought.

At one point, we're back facing in the same direction as we prance the floor, one heel in front of the other in unison, holding out our limp wrists like princesses and bopping our heads together with attitude. The floor makes certain that we have all the room that we need as they shift around us. We then stop then drop into a squat, jackknifing our knees apart as our hands go up behind our heads.

One move after the next, the five of us hit our stride. We now own this club.  
 _What's the name of this place, anyway?_

By the end of the dance, the dee-jay along with the entire club is begging the five of us for an encore. We all laugh, humbly waving them off. We've certainly caused enough interruption for one night.

When we exit the floor, we're all just as sweaty, but we hug one another anyway.

"Oh my god – that was _soooo_ much fun!" squeals Starla.

"That totally reminded me why I loved dancing in the first place," Miranda pants.

"That was _hype_!" Sweetness gasps. "Hey…London," she says to me.

"Ana," I correct her.

"Ana," she winces in an apology. "I've got something I wanted to share with you."

"Sure."

"Hey there, sweet thang," a random guy says, interrupting us. He zooms in on me. "I saw you out there," he says with a hungry grin. I cringe.

"Beat it, chump!" Sweetness growls. The man smartly turns away. "Like I was saying, before I was so _rudely_ interrupted..."

"Oh, my goodness, was that _really_ Ana Steele?" I hear another male voice suddenly call out, cutting off Sweetness once more. She scoffs as we both turn, and my heart drops the moment my eyes land on the source.

"Paul Clayton?" I gasp in utter shock.

….

Paul sits down in the chair opposite me across the small table that seats two. He hands me a vodka mixed with soda water.

"Thank you," I murmur.

"Damn," he smirks. "Anastasia Motherfucking Steele. Who knew you had moves like _that_?" he says in total awe.

I shrug my shoulders before taking a sip of my drink through the tiny black straw. "Why are you in town, anyway? Aren't you supposed to be at Princeton?"

His smile fades. "I had to rush home Sunday for a family emergency."

I gasp. "Oh no, is everything okay? Your brother? Your sister-in-law?"

" _No, no_ …everyone's fine. It's all good now. I'll be heading back to school this weekend," he says, reassuring me. I sigh in relief.

"I'm still bummed about what happened to the hardware store," I utter.

"So am I. My big bro's been down on his luck recently, but I'm certain he'll land right back on his feet again."

"Me too," I grin.

"Look, Ana – I know that I've been a pushy jerk from time to time during summers and holidays whenever I came to town. I honestly never meant to make you feel negative about me in any way. It's just…when I really like someone, I tend to overcompensate for it."

I'm stunned as I start to see a whole new light shine down on Paul Clayton, the same guy who I've always dreaded whenever he would prance into his brother's store as if he owned the joint. This is _not_ the same guy. I'm confounded.

"I know that we go to college in two completely different states, but I would like for us to keep in touch – maybe even hang out from time to time whenever I'm in town. Who knows, maybe we can even you know… _date_ whenever we both graduate," he says, almost bashfully.

 _Yeah, this is not the same Paul.  
Weird._

"There's no urgency on my end, of course," he continues. "Whatever you decide…"

All of a sudden, I see Paul rise up from his seat, but it takes a moment for me to realize that he was yanked up by someone. Grabbing him by the collar of his jacket is no other than Christian Grey.

 _Oh my god, what in the hell is he doing here?!_

I quickly stand and try to calm him down. He's practically breathing fire down Paul's throat.

"Hey! What are you _do_ …"

"Is this him?!" Grey shouts. "Is this the fucker that violated you?!"

 _Oh no._

"Put him down!" I shout.

"I swear to god, I will fuck him up if this is him!" he growls through his teeth, gesturing his head towards Paul so that I make no mistake who's about to get the business.

"Hey…who are you and why are you choking me?" muffles a frightened Paul. "Ana, is _this_ your boyfriend?" I am now shaking just as badly as he is. Mr. Grey is a split second away from killing him. I look around and everyone nearby is now staring at us.

"Put him down. _Please_ ," I say to Mr. Grey in a calmer voice. "I'm ready to go home now. Take me home."

I've must have soothed the savage beast because my current _client_ slowly frees my former boss' brother. I sigh in relief. Before I can even think, Mr. Grey takes me firmly by the arm and leads me towards the main door.

"Hey!" I gasp, but I immediately shut down. He is **_pissed_**.

I quickly glance over to the other side and catch gapes from Sasha, Elaine, and Miranda.

"Ana, are you okay?" Sasha says, seconds away from moving towards me. I hold up my hand.

"I'm fine," I call back to her. "I have a ride home. I'll call you tomorrow, okay?"

Fuck, how embarrassing. It's like my father just broke into the popular kid's house party to drag me out of it.

The final looks that I catch come from Becky and Sweetness. Becky smirks at me as if she ' _knew it all along_ '. Well, Christian Grey has no one else to blame but himself because I didn't tell her a damn thing. He's the one that came barging into our _Girls Night_ like an idiot.

 _Ass._

* * *

CHRISTIAN

"Why are you even here!" she shouts as I trail two steps behind her. "I'm sure that Jay Dark would have a raging boner right now if he saw us walking together!"

"He's _not_ here," I growl. "I have people everywhere on the lookout. And _besides_ , I told _you_ to keep your twerking ass home!" I'm fucking fuming as we surface in the parking lot. She stops cold in her tracks and I turn to glare at her.

"That was _not_ the guy that I was telling you about!" she says, now screaming at me. "That was _Paul Clayton_ the brother of my former boss at the hardware store, not _José_!" Suddenly, realization hits her. "Shit," she says under her breath.

"So, the asshole who assaulted you is named José," I seethe. "I _will_ find him."  
She sighs, irritated.

I've had quite the fucking night tonight. I've been calling and calling Miss Steele for hours, but she never answered her phone. I was pissed that her tracking program stopped working. When I called Welch to troubleshoot it, he informed me that the program had to install an updated security patch, which made the app no longer compatible with that piece of shit phone of hers. So, in order to locate her, Welch had to take _other measures_.

My heart nearly stopped when he issued me the cross streets of Miss Steele's whereabouts. They were too fucking close to Zion. My rage subsided somewhat when the coordinates lead to an address that was _not_ Zion, but I was nowhere near relieved when I realized that she was at a popular dance club. Taylor and I rushed over from Seattle and were here in an hour thanks to Charlie Tango.

"Why haven't you been answering your phone?" I say loudly. "I've been calling _and_ texting you."

"Really," she says with a surprised look on her face. She pulls her phone out of her clutch and searches the screen. "I promise, I haven't gotten any of your calls and texts."

"That phone is a piece of shit!" I shout before snatching it away from her and lobbing it as far as it will go. When it lands, its practically crumbles into dust.

"Hey! That was _my_ phone, you fucking asshole!" she screams at me. She then starts slapping me hard on my arm, but I ignore her as I pull out another phone from my inner jacket pocket.

 _I'm certain that will ache in the morning_

I hold out her brand-new iPhone 4. "This should work better," I tell her. She snatches it from me and then walks away. "Where are you going?" I follow her, irritated. "Oh – by the way, your dancing tonight was in direct violation of clause twelve of your _Artist_ terms."

She abruptly stops walking and turns around to gape at me. "What in the hell are you talking about? I wasn't doing anything but talking to him!"

" _Read_ your contract, Miss Steele. You are prohibited from dancing for anyone _but_ me."

She gasps and then starts laughing. "Are you talking about out on the dance floor? You've gotta be fucking joking! I can't even dance with my _friends_?"

I've actually came in at the tail end of her dance. I literally had to cool down before approaching her in the club. I ended up losing track of her amongst the crowd, but I eventually find her seated with drink in hand, getting all cozy with that tall goofy-looking motherfucker. Needless to say, Christian Grey was _not_ a happy camper. And as that loser continued to lay down his sorry ass game on her, I realized from hearing his words that he'd already knew her. I put two and two together and assumed that this was the supposed _friend_ who tried to rape her on her birthday. The one who she refuses to tell me who he is.

 _José, huh. At least I have a first name now.  
I __**will**_ _find him._

"No. I pay very good money to see you pop, lock and drop it, and I am _not_ sharing that. Don't let it ever happen again, or next time you won't get off so easily," I say with narrow eyes. When her eyes grow wide, I know that she immediately catches my double meaning.

"You're impossible, you know that?" she hisses.

"Why, thank you – _yes_ ," I say, peeving her even more. She growls and pretty much stumps her feet like a child before turning to march away from me. I quickly catch up to her.

….

I don't know how it happens, but she and I find ourselves nearly an hour later in our regular suite at The Heathman.

It's approaching midnight, as Miss Steele moves seductively in a sparkling royal blue corset and matching tulle skirt to Amy Winehouse's _You Know I'm No Good_.

 _You've said a mouthful, Amy._

But I can't help it…I'm totally and completely drawn to this girl. She straddles my lap and loosens my tie. I can tell that she's just a slight bit tipsy, but tonight I don't mind it as much. I want to taste her and sink into this woman in relief, because she is safe. My worst fears were not realized.

 _Thank god._

When the song and dance end, we kiss.

"You can't just go off the rails and start wailing on people before you know who they are," she sighs once our lips are apart.

"I still think that guy was a smug asshole. Who was he again?" I say, smoothing my hands down the tulle on her ass.

"My former boss' brother."

"It's more than evident that he wanted to fuck you. He was obviously playing his hand when I arrived."

"Childish," she says, rolling her eyes at me.

"I'll show you _childish_ ," I utter, before picking her up and carrying her off to the bedroom. She squeals in laughter.

….

We lie still. She's in my embrace and we take in the quiet post-coital moment.

"What's José's last name," I say, breaking the silence.

"God – you certainly know how to ruin a moment," she mutters under my chin.

"Are you rolling your eyes at me again?" I challenge.

"You're absolutely insane," she strikes back. "You'd better be glad that Jay Dark has given you a reason to keep stalking me, or that shit would be entirely uncalled for."

I wince at her words, but I think to myself – _No matter what, I will always have eyes on this girl so that she doesn't do anything else stupid, like get a job at another gentlemen's club._ Heaven forbid.

"Hey," I say, pulling her chin up towards me. Her eyes meet mine. "I want to try something different. Are you open to it?"

"Different?" she says, alarmed. "Different like how?"

"Do you trust me?"

"Aww hell…not that again," she sighs.

"Do you, or don't you?" I challenge.

She swallows. " _Fine_ ," she whispers. When I smile down at her, she blushes.

I roll out of bed and head towards my small suitcase. When I retrieve what I'm looking for, I turn around and catch her staring at me.

"You see something you like?" I tease.

"Maybe," she shyly replies.

When I re-approach the bed, I drop the four intertwined leather cuffs onto the bed, and they fall in a loud thud. She gapes at them.

" _Wha_ …what is that?" Fear is evident in her gorgeous blue eyes.

"I'm going to cuff your ankles and wrists behind your back," I tell her. "It's not as uncomfortable as you may think."

"How do you know that?" she challenges. "Has someone ever done that to you?"

"Maybe," I say, not giving anything away. But the way she gapes at me, she certainly knows that I've in fact been hogtied before. "You'll love it. I promise you. And if it's too much, we can use a safe word."

"A safe word?" she gapes at me.

"If it's too much, just say _red_ , and I will stop immediately. Understand?"

"Oh boy," she sighs. " _I_ …I don't know."

"Okay," I say simply, "we don't have to use them." When I slide the cuffs onto the floor, her eyes follow them.

"Wait," she sighs.

" _Wait_ what?" I tease.

" _We_ …we can try them, I guess," Miss Steele says reluctantly.

"I never want to force you to do something that you don't want to do."

I crawl back into bed and on top of her. My mouth finds hers, and we kiss. Seconds eventually lead into minutes and her hands are now threading into my hair as I am sucking on her breasts.

"Please…" she gasps, "…the cuffs. _Please_."

"You want me to restrain you, baby?" I purr, kissing down to her stomach.

"Yes – _please_ ," she begs.

"I want to get wild with you, Anastasia. Will you let me do that?"

" _Yes_ ," she calls out in yearning as I kiss her just on her pelvis.

"I am going to fuck you so good that it hurts later, so are you sure about that?" I whisper before my mouth takes her sex. She writhes underneath me.

"Yes!" she cries. "Please…fuck me 'til it hurts. _Please_!"

 _Fuck yes._

I stop my ministrations on her and roll off to retrieve the cuffs from the floor.

"Turn around on your stomach," I command. She does.

Here we are, about to take this thing to the very next level on an early Wednesday when she's set to go to class in the morning. It's thrilling. I begin to fasten the cuffs at her ankles, one at a time as she pants in extreme want. When that's done, I pull down her left arm and secure that. Then the right arm.

 _Oh god, yes. She looks simply amazing this way_ – I say to myself as I admire my handiwork. I roll onto the bed and begin to trace her spine with my tongue, and there's absolutely nothing she can do about it. She's groaning and rocking, but she can't move.

My tongue goes everywhere it can go, and she's losing her goddamn mind.

" _Ah_!"

Soon, my mouth is in the crack of her ass and she goes mad.

" _Shit_ …oh my god!" she cries, helpless.

I'm eating the fuck out of her asshole right now. I'm relentless. I don't quit, and she doesn't stop crying out in desire, and in frustration that she can't move. I'm in my zone.

 _The dom zone._

"You like me eating your ass, Anastasia?"

"Oh god, yes… _please_!"

" _Please_ what?" I toy with her. Suddenly, my fingers enter her sex and she explodes in just under twenty seconds. When I remove my fingers, I hunch up on my knees and I tightly grip the cross straps of her restraints. I slowly sink into her and she mewls.

" _Fuuuuccckkkk_ ," I hiss. I start to move as her screams are muffled by the mattress. I go faster.

And faster.  
And faster.  
And faster.

 _"_ _Ahhhhhhhhh!"_

"Your dance belongs to me, Anastasia," I grunt in between thrusts. "This pussy…" Her loud cries temporarily interrupt my train of thought, but then I find it once more. " _This_ is mine. Do you understand?" I say as I pound her relentlessly.

" _Yesssss_!" she wails through the mattress. " _Ohhhhh_! Oh my god! _I'm_ _comingggg_ …"

"I know, baby," I pant heavily in exertion. "I know."

* * *

 ** _A/N: Well faithful readers, I hope that was well worth the wait. CG is certainly a pushy ol' bastard, isn't he?_**

 ** _So next week in the chapter tentatively titled 'Caution', Ana skips classes for the next couple of days, recuperating from what we've just got done reading, haha! Worried about his daughter, step-father Ray stops by Vancouver for a visit._**

 ** _Then later, Ana visits her mom in Georgia for Thanksgiving and begins to have serious doubts about moving to Seattle after graduation._**

 ** _That's all for now. Thank you sooooo much for reading! – ST2_**


	13. Chapter 13 - Caution

**Chapter 13** **–** **Caution**

ANA

" _Ana? Ana? Are you okay?_ "

 _Oh God, I hope that's not someone blasting Smooth Criminal at this hour_ – I groan to myself. But then I realize that it's a gentle voice and not the dulcet tones of the late King of Pop that's causing my eyelids to flicker. Eventually, I realize that the room is pitch dark.

 _Where am I?  
What time is it?_

The moment I make a slight movement against the plush surface, an extreme bolt of pain immediately shoots up through the entire course of my body and brings all of last night's memories back to the surface. I moan.

 _I'm in my bedroom._

Not too long ago, I was at The Heathman with Mr. Grey – hogtied and being fucked within an inch of my life. I've never thought I would crave his intensity so much during the heat of the moment. I couldn't have imagined begging him to tie me up like an animal and abuse me.

Never could I have fathomed anyone performing anilingus and setting me on fire. I've always been a bit skittish about these things. I had the sexuality of a sixty-year-old hermit cat lady before I met this man. The only sex that I thought I'd ever experience once I finally got there was missionary sex. In this moment, my aching muscles and bones wished that were still the case. I've never felt pain like this.

Granted, Mr. Grey took special care of me in the early morning hours – being extra attentive and rubbing soothing balm all over me with his firm hands. However, it wasn't enough to prevent the world of hurt I'd experience after Doug the Driver dropped me off back at the apartment just before six o'clock. Sure enough, Mr. Grey was long gone when I woke up around five to pee, and I couldn't fall back asleep.

 _Waking up all alone after being caressed and held for most of the night never gets easier._

I shake away the nagging thought as I watch the shadow emerge from my door's threshold and saunter across the room towards the window. Before I can protest, light begins pouring in like a tidal wave. I am practically hissing like a burning vampire.

"Why are you still home?" Kate says, looking dead at me with eyes of concern. "Don't you have classes?"

I'm rubbing my eyes with both hands, trying to register the time; the day. It's all a blur.

"What time is it?" I moan like the living dead.

"It's almost one."

 _Fuck._ As soon as I attempt to scoot from the bed, every single muscle in my body begins to protest.

" _Owwww_."

Kate rushes over to my bedside. "What's wrong? Do you not feel well?"

"No," I say point blank. I stay exactly where I am and don't move a single muscle.

"Do you have a fever? Do you think it's the flu?" At her words, she ensures that she maintains a safe distance just in case what I have is indeed contagious.

I wish it were. It would be easy to explain the flu. There's no way to tell your best friend who really has no idea what's been going on with you for the past two months that you were getting fucked senseless just hours ago. She still thinks I'm a virgin, for heaven's sake. I couldn't even begin to conceptualize how a reveal with her would go down.

 _Yeah Kate, I signed a contract to perform private dances on weekends and whatever weekday that this smoking hot young Seattle billionaire swoops into town on his helicopter. Oh…and by the way – after every dance, he likes to tie me up, blindfold me, and bang my uterus out of place. And when I wake up in his hotel room, it's just like the tooth fairy, except instead of a silver dollar and a pack of Dentyne, I get a sweet handwritten note along with a check with three or four zeros under my pillow._

 _Oh God, Steele, what the hell are you doing?_

I feel much regret this morning – _no_ … _late_ afternoon. I feel like I'm losing sight of what's important. Last week, I got my first B-grade on a paper. A **_"B"_** for crying out loud! And now I'm missing classes for the first time since enrolling here. I groan at the very thought.

"Is that a new phone?" Kate says as she stretches over the edge of my bed and reaches toward my bedside table.

 _Fuck, another track to cover._ I was barely able to cover the tracks with her last Saturday when I arrived driving a glaring red Audi and not the inconspicuous Nissan that I last left home with. The very car that I bought in Kate's presence. And here I go, randomly bringing a better, more expensive car home like it's some stray cat that I supposedly ran into on the way home from Lake Oswego. I knew that there was no way in hell that Kate was satisfied with my answer.

 _"_ _I was bored and visited the dealership in Portland, and I decided to take advantage of a deal that reduced my car note by twenty-five percent by trading in the Nissan for a newer, sleeker car with extra bells and whistles."_

Yeah, it was a stupid lie, but that was the only explanation I could come up with after Kate saw my Audi key fob sitting on the kitchen counter and asked me who's slick car key that was. Afterwards, she proceeded to ask me a ton of questions about the transaction and later voiced her issue with me potentially falling for a scam. I told her that my car notes were now way lower and that she had nothing to worry about. But with me just saying that, it never does anything to ease Kate. She's the mom I never had, and that's not necessarily a good thing. Sometimes, you just need your best friend.

"My other phone died. Betsy gave me her spare," I murmur.  
 _Good one, Steele._

"Hmm," she says observing the device. "This looks practically brand new. I'm just glad you got rid of that flip phone. So, where's your car? I didn't it see it parked outside."

I groan. I've always hated playing _One Hundred Questions_ with Kate.

"It's on campus. Betsy picked me up and then dropped me off last night."

I feel absolutely miserable. My bones hurt – but that could be partially attributed to all of the dancing I was doing both at the club with the girls and back at the hotel with Mr. Grey. But my insides also hurt, and that can only be attributed to one thing: _Hard fucking_. I'm afraid to pull back the sheets. I wouldn't be a bit surprised if I saw blood after the pounding I took. Yes, Mr. Grey certainly held up his end of the bargain when he guaranteed that he'd fuck me so good that I wouldn't be able to walk the next day.

 _Damn him._

 _You could've used the safe word, Steele_ – my innermost thoughts nag. But whenever I'm in the moment with him, all rationality flies out of the window. It's like the logical Ana leaves, and this wanton sex goddess steps in and takes over my entire being.

I try and straighten up in bed in order to get a better look at Kate, but my entire body protests against me. I groan loudly.

"My god, Ana – you're in serious pain. Are any of Betsy's boys sick? Did you perhaps catch what they had?" Kate asks.

"I have no idea. Perhaps." I can barely shrug my shoulders, which also hurt. They were contorted behind my back at one point, after all. Maybe if I weren't so out of shape, I'd be more resilient towards Mr. Grey's exertions. Outside of dancing, I haven't really been working out all that much.

Kate swings up from the edge of my bed. "I'll email all of your professors on the portal and let them know that you've been in bed all morning resting from a sudden illness."

I flash her a weak smile. "Thanks."

"You want me to pick you up some soup or something?" she offers.

"Sure," I say with another weak smile. I am famished all of a sudden. Kate heads towards the open door.

"I'll get you a couple of Advil. Maybe that'll help take the ache off," she trails off after stepping out of my room.

 _Oh, Kate Kavanagh. She's continuing my aftercare where Christian Grey left off.  
_ I cringe at the thought.

When I asked Mr. Grey hours ago why he insisted on massaging my whole body after sex, he talked about it being customary for doms to perform _'aftercare'_. Before he said that, there was a part of me that hoped he was doing it because it was an intimate exchange and he yearned to maintain a connection with me after sex. And although it felt very intimate, although he seemed to relish in caring for me, I couldn't help wondering if he was simply going through the motions.

But what alarmed me even more was how he still referred to himself as a _'dom'_.

 _If he's still a dom, then what does that make me?_

….

 **So, you decided to stay home from class today  
I'm glad you're resting**

 _His stalking certainly knows no bounds._ I roll my eyes at the sight of Mr. Grey's text bubble on my brand-new iPhone. After taking the Advil and eating the hearty chicken soup that Kate brought me, I dozed off for two more hours.

 **Someone thought it would be a great idea  
to keep me up all night on a school night**

It takes him no time to respond.

 **I'd apologize, but it wouldn't be sincere  
I have zero regrets about last night**

 _What an ass!_

 **Oh really?**

 **Really.  
Do you regret it?**

 **Where do I begin?  
I ache everywhere**

I see the dots rolling in the text window letting me know that he's conjuring up a response that's sure to annoy the hell out of me. Will it be a naughty reply, or will he simply brag about accomplishing his goals in bed?

 **Everywhere? Even inside of my favorite place?  
I told you that my aim was to make you hurt later**

I giggle that his reply ended up being a little bit of both, but then I wince in pain from the spasm. My very core radiates in pain.

 **You'll probably hurt tomorrow, too**

He's still typing…

 **If it makes you feel any better,  
my arm now hurts after you repeatedly  
slapped it in the parking lot  
after I tossed your phone**

 _Oh shit, I did do that, didn't I?_ I feel vindicated, yet there's a slight tinge of shame for crossing a boundary by striking him…even though I was careful to do it in a _safe zone_. _I don't understand for the life of me that even in the midst of my anger, I was still cognizant about where and where not to hit him._ I smirk at the thought, but when my mind recalls the old scars on his chest, my smile immediately wipes away.

Was he abused as a child? I know that Mr. and Dr. Grey adopted him when he was four years old. I read all about it. But what happened in his life before then? And where does the blonde vixen in the man's suit come into play? He said that she wasn't the girl he recently stopped seeing. So, who is she? God, I have _so many_ questions and I'm not certain that he'll ever address them. It took me putting myself and my job at risk for him to come clean about being into BDSM.

 _I'm scared to think what it will take for him to tell me exactly why he doesn't like to be touched in certain areas._ The very thought causes bile to rise up in me.

 **Are you there?**

 **I'm here**

 **You have nothing to say about hitting me?**

 **Sorry?**

 **You're not sorry**

I carefully laugh as I begin typing my response.

 **Just like you're not sorry for torturing me  
and causing me to miss classes today**

 **You consider that torture?  
You didn't like it?**

If that wasn't his idea of torture, I'd hate to think what is. I mean, he hasn't pulled out the whips yet. Oh god, I don't know if I could ever handle getting hit. My own parents have never hit me.

 **I liked it**

I blush after sending it.

 **What did you like about it?**

 _Geez, he wants details._ I shake my head.

 **What are you doing right now?**

 **I'm in a meeting not paying attention.  
Tell me, what did you like about last night?**

Even my overstretched smile is starting to ache as I imagine him seated at the head of a boardroom not paying any mind to the meeting's speaker and texting me instead. Perhaps I should rile him up?

 _Let's see if you maintain your staunch businessman front, Mr. Grey._

 **I don't know how, but when you tied my arms and ankles  
behind my back and I couldn't move, it exacerbated my desire**

I giggle out loud after hitting _'send'_ , even though I'm terrified as I anticipate his response. He takes a beat but then I see that he's typing again.

 **That's natural, Anastasia. When you let go and give away all control,  
** **it's freeing. You become hyper-aware when you can  
** **no longer physically react to stimulation**

 _How does he know how free I felt?  
Do all of his submissives take an exit survey?_  
I shudder at the thought.

 **So, what else?**

 **When you licked me back there  
I wasn't expecting that**

 **Whether you know it or not, your entire body belongs to me  
No area is safe from my tongue**

 _Holy hell._ Even in the midst of aching pain, this man still knows how to make my temperature rise with desire. It's beyond annoying how much control he has.

 **Did you like it when I did that?**

Holy cow, this is so embarrassing. I can feel the blood rushing to my face with a vengeance.

 **I guess**

 **It's a simple yes or no answer, Miss Steele  
Did you like it?**

 _God, he can be unbearable sometimes._

 **Yes**

I remind myself that he's the one in the presence of others while I'm alone and in the comfort of my own bed. He should be paying attention to his employees. Instead, he's wanting to know if I enjoyed him licking my ass. It's amusing, so I pour it on.

 **I didn't know it would make me so wet**

I chuckle. _That should rile him up._

 **You were beyond wet**

 **I was**

I'm starting to get breathless as I await his response.

 **You should've seen it when I slid inside  
You were dripping off of me  
It was remarkable**

I groan, not only in pain but in extreme want. Like him, I like looking down where we connect and watching him slide in and out of me. I guess the only downside about last night was that I didn't get to see it happen after getting cuffed.

 **Was it?**

 **Oh, yes.  
In fact, I wish that we were still at it  
right now at The Heathman **

I roll my eyes. _Is that all he can think about while I'm lying in bed in pain right now due to his sweet aggression from the night before?_ Yeah, I know I prompted this risqué discussion, but how can he say that he wished we never left the hotel and that we were doing the same thing, when I had to miss school today because of it?

I'd rather he said that he wished he was here to give me a back rub.

 **That makes one of us**

 **Excuse me?**

I laugh out loud through the pain.  
 _Aww hell, let me put him out of his misery._

 **I'm in no shape right now to do that again**

 **That's right. You're still hurting.**

 **Well, if I weren't in meetings the rest of the week  
with visitors from China, I'd be right there with you,  
nursing you back to health**

 _So, he quickly redeems himself._ Just the very thought of his willingness to care for me sends a warm wave through me. Maybe that's all I needed to hear from him to hold me over until I see him again.

 **I'll be fine. At least I'm getting some rest  
and a much needed break from classes**

 **Rest up while you can because it'll soon  
come to an end when I see you this weekend**

 _And there he goes again, ruining yet another tender moment_ – I sigh to myself. _  
He's such a guy._ I roll my eyes. I can't even think about sex right now. But something tells me that once I see his face that's so drop dead gorgeous that it should be illegal, and once he speaks sensual words to me with his panty-melting voice, and then after that – he disrobes, revealing his killer body right before he touches me, teasing me…I'll be begging him to pound my already battered body once more.

I can't help it. Every single part of me is a glutton for his wild, sensual punishment – and I idly wonder if full-on BDSM is the true natural progression for me. I'd recently come to terms with how much I relish in pleasing this man during intimacy. The look in his burning gray eyes when I'm either on the floor dancing for him, or on my knees gazing up at him while I'm servicing his cock…

Or the fire in his eyes as he's on top looking down at me – _taking_ ; _giving_. If I've ever lived for anything else before experiencing _that_ , it's now a dead, distant memory.

 **Bye, Mr. Grey**

 **Laters, Miss Steele**

 _Laters?_ – I laugh to myself. That is _so_ unlike _the prim and proper Mr. Christian Grey_.

Soon, I'm brooding over the fact that he never calls me anything other than _Miss Steele_ …or _baby_. He will throw in an _Anastasia_ every now and again, but when I try and correct him by saying ' _Ana'_ , he ignores me. He'll never say _Ana_.

 _What's even more bothersome…he never corrects me when I call him_ _ **Mr. Grey**_ _._

I immediately get a sick sinking feeling in my stomach at the thought of us always operating this sordid client/ _'artist'_ relationship. It might be all fun and games now, but the moment I walk across that stage and get my diploma, all bets are off. It'll be time to grow up. I can't expect to flourish in life living in secret with such a private man who wants nothing more but for me to dance and fuck him.

Today, what we have is good. But tomorrow, it'll be played out.

Still, I have this everlasting longing inside of me for this man. But my fear is the moment I tell him after graduation that I want more, he will lose all interest in me. If anything, he's going to want someone who's willing to literally to take a hit for him. And although I very much enjoy his kinky fuckery, I couldn't imagine taking things past anything we've done last night.

During a session with Joy, she mentioned that butt plugs and nipple clamps are just two of the many staples in the BDSM realm. I remember cringing when she said that. Although Mr. Grey has um…licked me back there, I can't imagine anything other his tongue going inside of there. I shudder at the very thought.

Sex…especially with Mr. Grey has been more than I'd ever imagined. And dancing, especially for him, has been solidified in my soul. But could I be satisfied in a relationship that's only made up of dancing and fucking? And will Mr. Grey be completely satisfied with dancing and a modified BDSM program?

I don't think so.

I am going to want more soon, and so will he.

….

It's Thursday, and I close my laptop in bed after emailing all of my professors letting them know that I'm still not in good physical shape to roam the campus. For the last twenty-four hours, I've been limping around the house and popping Advil like nobody's business.

Kate's been taking great care of me. She was also kind enough to stop by one of my professor's offices and pick up a small book that I'll need to read for the next exam. And in between her classes, she stops by the apartment to check on me.

Whenever Kate drops the _me-me_ act, she is actually a fantastic best friend.  
And as long as she's still in charge, she's golden.

 _She sorts of reminds me of someone else I know._

As I place my closed MacBook on the table, my phone buzzes, startling me. I peep that it's a Portland number.

"Hello?"

"Miss Steele?" a male's voice says.

"Yes?"

"It's Luke. Luke Sawyer."

"Oh…hey Luke? How's it going?"

"It's going good. Hey, I just wanted you to know that I landed the job and I'm outside of your apartment – on watch right now."

My eyes grow wide. I'm relieved yet weirded out that I'm currently being staked out by my good friend's boyfriend. If I wasn't in so much pain right now, I'd go and check the the window for him.

"That's… _great_ ," I say, but excited and confused. He laughs.  
"I'm glad you're on payroll now. Maybe Becky can quit soon."

"I sure hope so," he sighs. "I don't know how long Mr. Grey will have me at your service. I sincerely hope that he has something else lined up for me after I'm done working for you."

"I'll be sure to ask if there's anywhere else he can assign you once we put Jay Dark behind us," I assure him.

"Thanks, Miss Steele."

I want to say – _Please, call me Ana_ – but I'm much too sore and tired to argue with him.

….

I'm sitting up in bed after my nap, doing class work when my phone rings again. It's Luke.

"Hey."

"Miss Steele…Raymond Steele is approaching your main steps."

 _Dad?_

"How do you know it's my stepfather?" I gasp.

 _Oh my god…please don't be him.  
I look a complete mess._

"I've studied all of the faces of everyone you know. Mr. Taylor gave me a copy of your file."

 _I have a fucking file?!  
_ I'm mortified.  
 _Who else has a file?_

"Also, if I don't know their face and they ring your unit, I get a notification on the security dashboard app on my phone that Mr. Taylor installed."

Jesus – this is getting too way out of hand.

"You guys rigged my door bell?" I groan.

"Someone on Mr. T's team did."

I can't believe what lengths Christian Grey and his cronies will go through just to keep me safe. I don't know if I should either be honored or fearful for my life.

"Ana! Ray's at the door?" Kate shouts.

Yeah, yeah…I know.

"Hey there, Katie," I hear him call out. I'm sure he's hugging her right about now.

"Where's my Annie?"

"She's in bed. She hasn't been feeling very well these past few days."

"Is that right?" he says in a voice that doesn't tell me whether he's concerned. That's Ray for you. The man shows no emotion. Soon, there's a rap on my bedroom door.

"Come in," I say as I close my computer screen. I look up and see my sweet stepfather, the man who I consider to be my dad, shuffle into my room in an oversized-flannel hunting jacket and Dickies.

"Annie…Katie says you haven't been feeling well."

 _No Dad, some strange man from Seattle comes into town every weekend and has his hired driver take me to Portland where he proceeds to fuck me until I can't move anymore._  
And even though that is the god's honest truth, I'd never tell him that.

"I'm just a little under the weather. I'm sure I'll be fine by tomorrow."

"Jesus, Annie," he says as he walks in to get a closer look at me. "You look like shit."

 _Ouch._ "Thanks, dad."

"I'm serious. Do you think you might have the mono or something?"

I gape at him. " _The mono_?"

"Larry who helps me out at the shop from time to time has a daughter who's your age and in college, and her mono is always flaring up. It puts her down flat for a whole week every time she gets it," Ray says as he takes a seat right next to me. When he runs his hand through my hair, I know he's slyly checking my temperature. He used to always do that when I was a kid.

 _Some things never change._

I'd hate to break it to him that you don't catch a fever getting savagely dicked down…unless that dick is carrying something else.

 _Oh, I'd fucking kill him if he'd ever gave me anything._

I quickly ditch the thought.

"I've been trying to get ahold of you for the past few weeks. I figured I'd just come by Vancouver and surprise you. Also, your mother's been bugging me to check up on you since you haven't been answering any of her calls either."

 _Oh god_ – I think as I massage my temple. I might have recalled a time or two where I might've ignored Carla's call because sometimes she takes a little bit more energy to deal with, but I'd never ignore a call from Ray. He's never one to call me a lot.

"Apparently I've been missing a number of calls and texts when I had my old phone. I just got a new phone two days ago," I tell him, pointing to it on the bedside table. "I shouldn't miss a call now."

I still get annoyed from time to time when I look at that new phone. And the new car. And the new clothes. Mr. Grey already pays me a lot to dance for him as it is, but he still buys me gifts on top of that. And clothes...and not just clothes to dance in. The outfit that I wore on Tuesday to the club wasn't a typical costume I'd dance in for Grey, so I decided to wear it out with the girls.

All the money, the clothes, the car, the phone…the sex. Is Christian Grey more of my sponsor than a client? It all seems a bit too tawdry for my taste, but I'm now at the point of no return. I'm totally hooked on him.

"I'm glad I thought good to check here first. I would've tried Clayton's next. Then I would've tried calling Kate."

"I don't work at Clayton's anymore," I tell him.

"What?" he gapes.

"Mr. Clayton closed the store. He had to file bankruptcy."

"So, who's paying for your school now?"

"I am," I tell him.

Finally, he shows a bit of emotion when he gapes at me.

"I'm babysitting four boys for a bigtime lawyer and his wife," I tell him.

"Wow, he must be pretty wealthy."

"They live in Lake Oswego."

"Oh, fancy," he says, knowing the area quite well.

Oh god…I hate lying to my father. Here he is, sitting bedside me, thinking that I have some airborne illness, when in actuality, I'm in pain because I've been messing around in bed with a billionaire who likes to tie me up like a wild boar and fuck me senseless… _repeatedly_. Ray would truly disown me if he ever knew the truth.

"I'm kind of disappointed that I'm just now finding out about you not working at the hardware store," he says. "You used to always tell me things, Annie. It's almost like I don't know you anymore."

And he's breaking my heart right now. My head drops until my chin hits my chest. However, it would be much worse if he knew that I was living this secret, lascivious lifestyle as a private dancer and sex siren for a multi-billionaire. I'd rather keep the lie going, so I look up.

"So, your mom and I had a chat. She said that Bob had some extra air miles that you can use to come to Georgia this month for Thanksgiving. Maybe you can do Christmas in Montesano for a change."

I perk up at the thought of finally having Christmas with Ray. Since that's normally my longest time off from school, I've traditionally spent Christmas and New Year's out of state with my mother.

"Sure," I smile.

He rubs my ratty hair. I know it's a mess right now…I just know it.

"Annie, please call your mother from time to time. You only have one."

Immediately, the guilt floods in. No matter how I felt about my mother seemingly putting her men before me in the past, I need to brush that aside and stop avoiding her.

"Alright, dad," I sigh.

As Ray and I hug, it dawns on me that I'll have to cancel Thanksgiving weekend with Mr. Grey, which shouldn't be a problem since he'll probably be spending it with his own family anyway; his mother, father, brother, and sister. He'd mentioned in passing that his sister would be soon taking a hiatus from culinary school abroad. I wished I knew more about his family. It's like pulling teeth whenever I bring them up. He hardly wants to talk about anything outside of work and _me_.

It's frustrating.

….

On Friday, I finally leave the apartment and am well enough to attend my one and only class. I make it back home around eleven. As I sit at my desk working on my laptop, Kate comes barging in. I swivel around in my chair.

"Oh my God, Ana…I have it from a very reliable source that our university will be announcing very soon that we've won a thirty-million-dollar grant from Christian Grey and Grey Enterprises Holdings to build a brand-new facility for the agriculture program and kickstart their extensive research program."

 _Boy, that's certainly a mouthful._ I perk up at the news. Although I'd be very disappointed if this news is true and Mr. Grey has failed to mention this to me himself during the times that we've been together.

"That's…that's _good_?" I say, confused as to why Kate would care so much. We're liberal arts majors, for crying out loud. And by the time the program goes into full swing, Kate and I will be long gone.

"I've been trying all morning to land an interview with the ever-elusive billionaire who rarely grants interviews, and I'm having a difficult time. I've even reached out to my dad to see if he could pull some strings, but I'm hearing Mr. Grey is booked solid until sometime next spring," she sighs.

I shrug my shoulders. "I'm sure you'll find a way," I tell her.

She is Kate Kavanagh, after all. She's a pit bull when it comes to getting exactly what she wants.

….

My phone rings not long after Kate leaves the apartment to go work at the school paper. It's an unknown Portland number. Leery, I pick it up.

"Hello?"

"Hello, _A_ …Ana?" a strong female voice speaks out.

"This is she," I reluctantly respond.

"Hey girl," her voice perks up. "It's Sweetness." I perk up right along with her.

"Hey there!"

"Hey…I hope you don't mind me getting your number from Becky."

"No…not at all."

"Cool. Hey…I wanted to discuss that thing I tried to tell you about at the club on Tuesday before Mr. Grey drug you out."

I pretty much groan in extreme embarrassment.  
 _Damn you, Christian Grey._

"Look," she continues, "I wouldn't blame you one bit if you decided not to have anything to do with me after what I'm about to tell you."

My breath hitches at her words as I brace for the worse.

"Back when you were at Zion, I functioned as an informant."

My stomach bottoms out. "Informant?" I gasp.

"Yeah…for Mr. Grey."

 _Are you fucking kidding me?  
For Grey?_

"Really?" I say, trying to hold off my anger for as long as I can.

"Yeah. He wanted to know who you were talking to while you at work. I told him about _Hot Chocolate_."

Holy hell. Of course. That's how he found out about my friendly chats with Dawson Jacobs.

 _Why, the sleazy son of a bitch._

"Look, my baby's father lost his job and I needed the extra cash – so I agreed to Mr. Grey's request to rat you out."

" _That's_ …that's not cool," I respond, not knowing what else to say to her.

"Yeah, it was mad dirty – I know. I consider you as a friend, Ana, and I broke your trust. Then I saw how Mr. Grey yanked you out of there before I even had a chance to tell you what I did. He may be fine as hell, but he still creeps me the fuck out. I hope you're being careful out there, Ana."

Well, too fucking late, Sweetness. I've already gave it up to the _creep_ and now I keep coming back for more. I'm beyond disgusted with myself.

"But that's not what I called to tell you." I instantly grow cold after she says the words.

"Mr. Dark sent me out to the club that night to follow the girls. He orchestrated the whole thing. He gave them all the night off knowing that they'd ask you to join them. And the moment you showed up, he knew that Christian Grey would, too."

 _Holy fucking shit._ I can feel my skin flushing. I suddenly feel cold.

"I was supposed to take pictures the moment I saw you and Grey together. I couldn't do it. I've already betrayed you before. So as far as I'm concerned, you were never at that club that night. At least that's what I told Mr. Dark. I don't know what he's trying to do to you, but he's totally up to no good, as usual."

 _Oh my god._ I'm breathless. "Sweetness…thank you."

"Honey, it's not a problem. I just hope that someone gives Jay Dark what's coming to him. He's an evil, evil man."

"So do I, Sweetness," I sigh. "So do I."

* * *

CHRISTIAN

It's my absolute favorite time of the week as Miss Steele saunters into my executive suite.

"Why didn't you tell me about the grant with WSU Vancouver?" she immediately spouts off.

"Well…hello to you too, Miss Steele."

"Cut the crap," she barks.

I tilt my head sideways, thoroughly amused with her spiciness. If she weren't so darn enduring and beautiful, I'd spank the shit out of her for disrespecting me.

"I was going to tell you," I say in all honesty.

She is not amused. "Did you just pick my school because I'm a student there, so you can stalk me even more?"

I wince at her words. "Look, even though you go to WSU Vancouver, I was going to pick them anyway. They have a stellar agriculture program."

Well, if I'm being totally honest, I was leaning more towards USC Berkeley, but the _Miss Steele advantage_ broke the draw.

I can tell that there's something else on her mind, but she quickly changes faces. She's a little softer.

"Hey, can you tell me the situation with Luke's ongoing employment after _the Jay Dark stalking caper_ is resolved?" I narrow my eyes in confusion to her question. "He just wants to be sure he remains gainfully employed so Becky can quit Zion."

 _Oh._ "If he does this job well, I can assure you that he will always have a job with me. Perhaps I'll even put him over the security team at SNA Corp."

Before I can say another word, Miss Steele is rising up on her tip toes and kissing me.

 _I should employ her friends' boyfriends more often._

….

Miss Steele's gasping heavily as I stroke her beautiful brown hair. I plant a kiss on her forehead. She's still reeling from her massive orgasm. Soon, she twists and faces me. My hand remains in her hair.

"I know that you paid one of the girls at Zion to keep an eye on me."

When she delivers the charge, I don't flinch.

"I did what I had to do in order to protect what is mine." I immediately kiss her lips, but when I pull away, the look of irritation doesn't leave her sea-hued eyes.

"You get in this mode where you like to talk about me like I'm cattle…or a car. I'm a human being," she charges.

I kiss her again. "I know, baby.

"So why don't you treat me like one? And why do you always leave money and a note on the pillow before you haul ass out of here?"

 _So…she wants to argue. I'll play her game.  
She'll just want to fuck again afterwards,  
which is totally fine by me._

"Would you prefer direct deposit?" I quip.

She hisses. "Ass."

"And you have a mighty fine one, Miss Steele," I tease, grabbing hers. She squeals, and I pull her into me. She's squirming and laughing hard. When she's breathless, I can't help but claim her lips with mine once again.

When the kiss ends, she says, "I want to ask you a favor." My eyes narrow suggestively, and she sighs. "Not _that_ , dirty mind."

"You like my _dirty mind_ , don't you," I taunt before quickly giving her delicious lips a peck.

"Seriously," she says, and I give her my best poker face. "My best friend helps run the school newspaper, and she really wants to land an interview with you to discuss your partnership with the school."

 _Is that all she wanted?_  
I narrow my eyes at her.

"Yeah…of course."

She gapes at me in total shock. "You'll do it?"

I chuckle and nod. "I'm just shocked that you waited until after we had sex to ask. Look at you, using sex as a weapon to get your way. Well done, Miss Steele." Immediately, she blushes, and I give her lips another kiss. "I'll have my assistant contact her next week with a day and time."

"Can you do it this month?" she sweetly asks while gently rubbing my arms. My dick appreciates the gesture.

"Sure," I reply. "Now, Miss Steele, can you do me a favor?" I now have her full attention. "I need you to grab your ankles and pin them by your ears. You're rather flexible, my dancing queen. And besides, I've been thinking about taking you that way for the longest time."

I expect a full-out argument, but instead she rocks her body away from me and then proceeds to form her body into a pretzel, making her ankles come as close to her head as she possibly can.

 _Holy fuck._

"Ready when you are, Mr. Grey," she rasps…and soon I take her just like that.

* * *

ANA

Tuesday morning before I leave the apartment for class, I get a cryptic text from Mr. Grey.

 **When Miss Kavanagh makes mention  
of Seattle today, offer to join her**

I'm puzzled until Kate comes skipping into the living room.

"Oh my god," she gapes, "Mr. Grey wants me to meet him _tonight_ in Seattle. He's granting me the interview!"

Her excitement is contagious, so I hug her.

"When are you leaving?" I ask.

"If I leave campus at two, that should give me plenty of time to get there by the six o'clock interview time."

"That's good," I smile.

Immediately the words of Mr. Grey's text come to mind, but how in the hell can I invite myself when Kate's going there to do a very serious interview with him? And where will he and I find the time to talk alone anyway? He knows good and well that Kate knows nothing about my experience at Zion, or my current situation with him.

"Hey, aren't you done by two, also? Why don't you come along with me, so I don't have to drive alone?" Kate suggests.

 _Look at that.  
And I didn't even have to offer. _

"Sure," I reply. Kate squeals in greater excitement in spite of my visible reluctance.

 _I hope that he doesn't make me regret tagging along._

….

After a lengthy drive, Kate pulls up to the guest parking spot of a high-rise building.

 _Escala?_

I've seen many photographs of Grey House and it looked nothing like this. Still, it's a _really nice_ building. Perhaps this is just another one of Christian Grey's many other satellite locations. Or perhaps it's some fancy restaurant on top of the building with a 360-degree rotating floor.

"Where are we?" I ask

"Mr. Grey lives here."

 _His_ _ **home**_ _?  
He's having the interview at his house? _

I'm floored. _Why in the hell would he invite my best friend to his home for a one-on-one interview? What if I decided not to join her? Would he still have her here?_ I cringe at the thought.

Kate straightens out her navy-blue dress suit and checks her makeup in the glass before security buzzes us into the extravagant main lobby. As usual, I pale in comparison to the incomparable Kate Kavanagh wearing high-heeled boots, jeans, and a golden cowl neck sweater under a smoke-colored trench coat. When we enter the building, I immediately spot Taylor who's already standing to greet us.

"Miss Kavanagh?" he says.

I'm literally shaking in my boots thinking that Taylor will address me and potentially blow my cover. But to my utter relief, he doesn't. Instead, he glances my way and gives me a kind nod. I'm relieved.

"Yes – Katherine Kavanagh and Anastasia Steele here to see Mr. Grey?" Kate says, all official-like.

"Sure," Taylor responds. "Please follow me, ladies."

We bypass the security desk and the facing visitors' log and follow Taylor towards the elevator. He lets us in first and the doors close shortly after he steps in. _I wonder which of the floor buttons he's going to push._ Instead, he hits the pound key on the small keypad beside the floor buttons, and types in a bunch of numbers really fast. Then, the elevator begins to shoot straight up like an express elevator.

"That is so neat! The elevators at our apartment aren't nearly this fast." Kate's talking to me, but I'm not paying her any mind as I watch the numbers go up, up, up, even past the highest number on the display board. _Holy shit._ When the elevator finally stops, the doors instantly part.

"After you, ladies," Taylor says with an arm extended past the opening. Kate and I walk out together.

" _Man_ …" Kate gapes in astonishment.

I'm taking in all of the art in bust and hanging form in the hallway.  
 _Holy shit_ …or is this the foyer?

"What apartment is Mr. Grey in?" I blurt out. I see no other doors with numbers in sight.

"You're in it. Mr. Grey has the entire penthouse floor," Taylor replies. I gape at him.

 _Yep, this is his foyer.  
We're already inside of his apartment.  
Good lord. _

"Well, _la di da_ ," Kate sings, highly impressed.

We follow Taylor through the walkway and into the great room area. It's breathtaking. There's a sweeping staircase and majestic chandeliers hanging from a ceiling that reaches the heavens. _A piano._ I'm astounded.

He lives _here_? His mainstay executive suite at The Heathman has nothing on this place.

"Miss Kavanagh," I hear a familiar voice say.

Soon, my eyes feast on sex with two legs. _Thank God, he's still wearing a suit._ My mouth starts to water at the very sight of him. He approaches my best friend and extends his hand to her without lingering on me. My heart jumps.

"Christian Grey. Pleased to meet you."

 _Holy shit. I'm just as breathless as if this is_ _ **my**_ _first time meeting him._

"Nice meeting you, too," Kate purrs. "You have a gorgeous home."

"Thank you."

"And thank you for agreeing to do the interview on such short notice."

"Glad to do it. I'm looking forward to breaking the news in your article. The agriculture program at WSU Vancouver is a very big deal," he replies in a panty-dropping husky voice.

"I'd say," Kate beams a little too much.

Oh, Kate. You are _so_ predictable.  
Lower your skirt back down, hussy.  
He's already in a _complicated_ relationship.

 _With me._

As I stand off to the side watching my best friend and the man that I've been screwing exchange pleasantries, I feel like a vice grip is squeezing my chest.

"Oh…how rude of me," Kate says, remembering herself. "I hope you don't mind, but I asked my best friend and roommate to join us since I had to drive quite a way to get here. This is Anastasia Steele."

I extend my hand and he takes it and squeezes it firm. The look in his eyes has me practically melting into a puddle of goo.

"Anastasia," he says in a voice that almost has me disrobing right then and there.

"Ana," I whisper back. "Please."

I catch a twitch at the corner of his mouth. I wish I could burst out laughing, but I'd certainly break our cover that way.

"Mr. Grey, where would you like for us to set up for the interview?" Kate asks.

"I'd thought you ladies might want to join me in the dining room for dinner first," Mr. Grey says kindly after releasing my hand. "I'm sure the long drive worked up your appetite." And when he says the word _'appetite'_ , his hungry eyes go straight to me. I blanch and quickly turn my head.

"Why, sure," Kate happily pipes. "And if you don't mind, maybe we can start the interview over dinner? I find that interviews tend to be a little more laid back over a good meal and a nice beverage."

"Fine by me," Grey says. "Please, follow me."

He extends an ushering hand and Kate walks ahead of us. I follow her. Suddenly, I feel a hand firmly planted on my ass. I gasp. Quickly, his lips swoop down and peck mine the moment I look up at him to give him the evil eye. I'm breathless.

"You look beautiful tonight, baby," he whispers silkily in my ear.

 _Lord Jesus._

My vagina is singing _God Bless America_ , but my brain is freaking out right now. I flash him a quick glare and he smirks at me.

 _Boys._

….

Dinner was freaking spectacular. We partook in duck breast simmered in cranberry sauce, green beans and mashed potatoes. I'm seriously in heaven right now. Earlier, we were introduced to the woman who prepared and served the delicious meal, Mrs. Jones – Mr. Grey's housekeeper. Geez, what I wouldn't do to have a Mrs. Jones of my very own. If I got to eat like this every day in Seattle, no way in hell would I be away all the time in Portland eating lame hotel food.

As Kate finally starts the interview, Mrs. Jones clears dinner and prepares to serve coffee and tiramisu. She starts around with a carafe and begins to pour piping dark fluid into the porcelain mug in front of Mr. Grey.

"Thanks Gail," he says quietly, and she walks over to Kate.

"Coffee, Miss Kavanagh?" the kind, older blonde beauty asks.

"Sure," Kate smiles. "Thank you." She positions her digital recorder and presses record. "So, Mr. Grey, tell me how you decided to partner up with a university for your global green initiative. And did you ever consider starting your own independent research faculty?"

Instead of looking at Mr. Grey for his response, I'm distracted when Mrs. Jones doesn't even bother to ask me if _I_ want coffee before walking away. _Huh?_

"Well, I already have my own research lab inside of our corporate headquarters in downtown Seattle," Grey responds. "I think it's important to team up with academia and enlist the help of bright young minds. I'd like to engage new thinkers who aren't yet jaded about what did or didn't work in the past."

Mrs. Jones returns, but now she's hauling a completely different porcelain carafe. _Oh, she had to go and get more coffee_. I close my eyes feeling mighty stupid for being upset earlier. I don't even drink fucking coffee in the first place.

"Do you think you'll form an internship program that will invite students at WSU to apply for jobs at Grey House?"

I watch as Mrs. Jones stands over my shoulder and tilts the spout directly over my empty mug. But instead of coffee, it pours out steaming hot water. My eyes round in surprise. _Oh my god…she knew!_ Immediately, Kate stops talking and is now gaping at her, too.

"Wow, how did you know that she prefers tea?" Kate asks.

Mr. Grey obviously told his housekeeper what I drink, but _why?_ I feel the blood rushing to my face. I glance over at him and he's just as cool and calm as a cucumber even though he and his housekeeper are clearly about to blow our cover to my best friend.

 _Bastard._

"I prefer tea as well. It was just a wild guess," Mrs. Jones smiles like Mary Poppins. "Miss Steele, what type of tea would you like?"

"Do you have Twinings English Breakfast?" _I squeak. Get a grip, Steele._

"I've got you," she says with a wink before stepping off to the side.

In the middle of coffee and dessert, Kate's questioning has gradually progressed from the earlier softball ones. At first, it was all about how one of his company's main goals is to sustain the planet and provide food and resources for developing countries, and how much Grey is looking forward to the ongoing relationship between GEH and WSU Vancouver.

Now, Kate's getting personal…and I don't like it.

"So, I've noticed when you're photographed at fundraisers and other corporate events, you go alone. There's no potential _Mrs. Grey_ waiting in the wings?"

 _Aw hell, Kate. Give it a rest._

"I'm a very private man, Miss Kavanagh," he responds with no edge whatsoever. "I like to let my work speak for itself."

"But _why_ do you work? What good is all of the success if you don't have anyone to share it with?"

 _Shoot me now._  
If I could kick her under the table, I would.

"Who's to say that I don't already have someone to share it with," Grey counters.

 _Holy shit._ My mouth flies wide open, but I hurry up and close it.

"Do you?" Kate challenges.

"Sure."

I'm practically shaking.

"Family," he says.

I get a sinking feeling in my stomach.

"So, no little lady? Mr. Grey?"

He chuckles. "Why is that of your concern, Miss Kavanagh? I thought you wanted to interview me about the grant?"

"I'm interested in giving my readers the full story, Mr. Grey. They want to know all about the man behind the check. Can we trust you and your company on our campus? Inquiring minds want to know."

"What I do in my personal life has nothing to do with my philanthropy, Miss Kavanagh."

 _Holy shit._

I can tell that he's had enough of her. She's pushing him much too hard.

"What about a _man_ , Mr. Grey? Is there a man in your life?" Kate says suddenly.

 _Are you fucking kidding me?!_

"Kate," I finally snap.

"No…there isn't a _man_ ," he says as calmly as possible.

"So, there is a woman, then?" Kate says with hope lingering in her eyes.

"Kate…cut it out," I groan.

"I apologize, but everyone is anxious to know who Christian Grey's been dating." She then turns to him. "Seriously, you don't have to tell me who she is. But you'd really be doing me a solid if you break the news to our paper."

"Oh my god," I say out loud under my breath.

Finally, Grey's armor cracks and he lowers his face into his hands to massage his temples. He's beyond irritated.

 _Is he going to tell her that he's been seeing me on weekends?  
_ I shudder at the notion.

"I don't think that matters, Miss Kavanagh," he finally replies.

"I think it does," she argues. "Right now, you come across as a tough as nails asshole." _Lord Jesus, take me off this earth right now._ "But if the people knew that you were seeing someone, they could relate more to you."

"I couldn't care less if people _relate_ to me," he sneers.

And now the gloves have come off.

"You should care. You're in the public eye," she bops as she takes another sip of her coffee. "Jesus, even the coffee is amazing. And with that, I have to use the bathroom."

"Straight ahead and to your left," Grey calls out.

"Thanks," she says as she pauses her recorder. She excuses herself, while he and I ensure that she completely leaves the area.

"She is a royal bitch." He doesn't hesitate to make his stance known.

I sigh, exasperated. "I'm sorry. _I_ …"

"She's rude and asks unnecessary questions that don't have shit to do with the program at WSU," he seethes.

"I know. It's just…she's a hard-hitting aspiring journalist who can't help but ask the tough questions…"

"For a fucking college newspaper! This isn't the _Times_."

"Yeah, I know – but she's trying to build up her portfolio so that she can get hired by the Times after graduation."

He scoffs. "I don't understand how the two of you are even _friends_ , much less _best_ friends."

I chuckle. "Believe it or not, it's not the first time I've ever heard that."

It was in that moment I knew that it would be extremely difficult for Kate Kavanagh and Christian Grey to co-exist in the same world as me. The very thought is devastating.

He shakes his head. " _Why_? _How_ do you even tolerate that?"

"Because she was there for me during a time when no one else was. I was all alone when I first moved to Vancouver. She reached out and was a good friend to me ever since."

Suddenly, I feel his leg touching mine from across the table.

"I'm here for you now," he whispers.

My head drops down.

"Hey…what are doing for Thanksgiving this month?" he asks all of a sudden.

My heart nearly stops.

 _Is he going to ask me to join him and his family?_

 _Oh my god._

"Why?" I ask.

"If you were planning on staying at your apartment, I need to know for security planning purposes."

My spirit immediately sinks.

 _So, he wasn't going to ask me over for Thanksgiving to meet his family._

"Well, as a matter of fact, I am flying to Georgia to visit my mother," I announce.

His look turns harsh. " _Georgia_?"

"Yes. My mother and her husband live in Savannah."

"Husband number _four_ ," he frowns. "Your _other_ stepfather."

 _Yeah, judgmental asshole.  
_ I don't say a word. He knows that I'm pissed.

"When did you decide to go to Georgia? Why are you now just telling me this?"

I frown at him. "I decided late last week."

"We spent _all weekend_ together, and you're just now telling me about this?"

" _Oh_ ," I say, chuckling like an insane woman. "Don't even get me started on the _plan_ you've been working out with my school for _months_ without telling me."

"Fair enough," he replies, quickly letting his grudge go. "Send me your itinerary for Georgia, and I'll have Taylor brief Sawyer and make sure he's in position when you land…"

I gape at him. "What?"

"You'll need coverage in Savannah."

"Are you _insane_?" I gape. "Luke has plans with Becky and their families."

"So?" he says, unmoved. "He'll have to break them. He was hired to make sure that you remain safe."

"I will be with _my_ family in Georgia," I hiss "There's no way in hell Dark will follow me there."

"I don't trust that asshole," he growls.

"I know, but please…trust that I'll be fine in Georgia. Maybe you can make certain that I board a flight without being noticed or something."

"Hmm, maybe you can take the GEH jet," he contemplates.

 _What?! He has a jet?_

Of course, he has a jet.

" _No_ …no jet. I want to fly commercial, so that my mother doesn't question why I had to fly into a small private airport."

"Fair enough," he says. "So, how do you like Seattle so far? Excited to move here after graduation?" He's now smiling at me and I feel my chest constricting. "I think it'll be good for you to start a career here after college. Plus, we can see each other more often," he says with a gaze hot enough to trigger dynamite.

Immediately, I am contemplating all of the possibilities. Perhaps after I move to Seattle, he and I could finally go public. You know…hold hands while strolling down Elliott Bay. I look at couples like Luke and Becky and I yearn for the same. _Hopefully I'll finally get to meet his parents, Mr. and Dr. Grey, as well as his older brother and younger sister._ I smile at the thought.

"And, there's one room in particular in this apartment that I can't _wait_ to show you," he whispers.

Instantly, my dreams disappear in a cloud of smoke. Christian Grey's current idea of a relationship involves limits and boundaries…and contracts. His idea of a relationship and mine are currently two completely different things. Before I can say anything in response, Kate resurfaces in the dining room to conclude her dreadful interview.

….

"He's hotter than hell up close, but I couldn't deal with his domineering personality," she says as we cruise I-5.

 _If only she knew._

"You made him feel very uncomfortable back there. He was kind enough to fit you into his very busy schedule," I remark.

"When you have an opportunity, Steele, you take it," she lectures. "Do you know how many publications and news stations are clamoring to get time with Christian Grey?"

I sigh. "I hope you're fair in your article. You should stick to the story about the program at school. Don't make it personal."

"Sweetie, this is journalism. I wouldn't be doing my job if I didn't remain honest," she peps.

 _Oh boy._  
I'm dreading this article already.

And it's all my fault for convincing Mr. Grey to do it.

* * *

CHRISTIAN

It's the last Friday before she takes off to Georgia to visit her mother for Thanksgiving, and I'm already dreading it. I try to fall into the moment and not let the thought linger. It's not that difficult to do when she's squatting and rocking her body to the floor, seducing me to Janet Jackson's _Would You Mind._

 _Not in the very least, Miss Steele.  
Have your way, sweetheart. _

Tonight, she's only wearing a lacy pink bra and matching panties. Hell, that's all she needs right now. That won't take much work at all for me to get to her creamy center.

Soon, her legs spread apart as she bites her finger, teasing me with her eyes. I lick my lips at her, ravenous for her. Soon, she's swoops forward and slithers right in between my perched legs, whipping around her gorgeous chestnut hair. Hair that I'll soon be tugging from the back.

….

" _Ahhhh_ ," she screams, as I pull her hair in bed. I'm fucking her hard and fast from behind on all fours.

"You like that?" I dig in.

" _Yes_ ," she whimpers.

"You like it, huh?"

"Oh god, _yes_ …"

" _Yeah_? Take it. Take it, baby. Take all of this."

She cries out even louder.

"Yes," I hiss, tugging her hair so hard that I'm now able to reach her neck. I ravage it with my mouth. "That's a good girl. Come on…say my name."

She cries out but doesn't do what I tell her.

"You heard me," I growl. "Say my name."

"Mr. Grey!" she screams.

"No baby…Say. My. Name. My _whole_ name."

" _Chri_ … _Chris_ … _Christian_ …" she wails as I crash into her relentlessly.

"Yes," I groan. "Say it."

" _Christian_ …"

"Fuck yes, baby…"

" _Christian Greyyy_! _Ahhhh_ …"

"Fuck yeah…"

" _Christian Greyyyy_!"

"You're mine," I growl. "Don't ever forget it. And don't you give away what belongs to me while you're in Georgia next week. You hear me?"

"I _won't_ …"

I go harder and faster, and she gloriously detonates all around me. I soon follow close behind her, collapsing on top of her back.

* * *

ANA

Wednesday before Thanksgiving, my mother hugs me tightly while I'm barely in the door. Bob wiggles past me as he lugs in my suitcase.

"Oh honey…I've missed you _so_ much. I was a wreck when I couldn't get ahold of you," she says, kissing my cheek.

"I'm sorry…but I have a new phone now that actually works," I laugh.

"Yeah, Ray told me you that you were having phone trouble. Are you hungry? I just finished dinner."

An hour later, Bob's already reclining on his Lazy Boy, leaving my mother and me alone at the small kitchen table.

"So, have you finally met someone?" my mother says, raising her brows up and down all cheesy-like. I cringe.

"Mom," I sigh.

"Have you?"

I only shrug in response.

"I know you, Ana. Tell me."

"There might be?" I say with a silly smirk. Carla sighs in relief.

"What's his name?"

My smile immediately washes off. "I don't want to tell you his name. _You know_ …in case it doesn't work out."

She chuckles. "Oh sweetheart, I get that. More than you know." I laugh. "So, tell me about him. Is he charming?"

"Yes."

"Handsome?"

"Very."

"Wow," she gasps. "Does he go to your school?"

I shake my head. "He's older."

"Really?" she says, intrigued.

"You know that I've always had an old soul," I remark.

"Absolutely. I'm not surprised that he's older. Does he live close by?"

"He lives in Seattle, but he travels a lot to Portland for work."

"So, he's a professional. What does he do for his company?"

I swallow. "He owns it."

"Really," she gapes. I nod. "So, you'll obviously see more of him when you move to Seattle with Kate after graduation, huh?"

Suddenly, I flinch.  
 _Is that still the plan?_

It's the very question that breaks me.

All throughout dinner, I sat and watch the loving banter between my mother and her husband. And all the while, I yearned to have the very same thing. I just don't know if I'll get that if I move to Seattle.

" _I_ …don't know."

Soon, my mother is pulling her chair closer to my side. She wraps a single arm around me.

"Honey, don't you ever lose yourself in a guy. If it's not right for you, you'll know. And if you ever feel pressured, you can always come here and move in with us after you're done with school until you figure it all out. There's ton of great companies near here for you to choose from."

I sigh at the thought of taking a detour from Seattle and starting a new life in Georgia. I reach over and hug my mother.

"Thanks. I'll think about it," I murmur.

"No pressure. Just know that I'm here whenever you need me," Carla says before planting a kiss firmly on my cheek.

….

On the Friday after Thanksgiving, I join mom and Bob for lunch over at Bob's golf club. One major reason why Bob loves it here in Georgia so much is that he can play golf year 'round. The fact that he's addicted to the boring sport bugs my mother to no end.

After the three of us eat lunch, mom and I park ourselves on the terrace where we have the privilege of having cocktails delivered to us, while Bob hops on his golf cart along with his buddy Walt from work to tee off on the green nearby.

I'm having just a splendid time with my mom. Carla raves about how proud she is of me, and how I'm just a few short months away from getting my degree. She then makes mention that I didn't make the mistake of getting knocked up as young as she did. This conversation has always made me feel beyond uncomfortable.

Sure, Carla had me at a young age, but it's not like I want to hear how much she regrets giving birth to me. It's definitely a sore spot. As soon as I spot the waiter, I order another drink, and mom joins in. After a while, we start to get a little bit tipsy and laugh at practically anything.

"Bob thinks he's Arnold Palmer. Ray Charles can probably golf better than him," she says in a loud, drunk whisper.

"Mom! That's not nice," I say, cracking up anyway. "Bob enjoys golfing. I'm sure he's improving each time he comes out here."

" _Fuck_!"

I hear a shout from across the green. Mom and I see Bob from afar off, throwing down his club and stomping like a manic child in anger. My mother and me lock arms and begin howling in laughter.

….

"So pretty much, all I have time to do is teach myself how to knit…or read a book. I refuse to golf," my mother says with an eye roll.

"You're knitting now? I thought you were into scrapbooking?"

"Well, I ran out of things to scrapbook," she says. "I pretty much used all of your baby photos. Only way I'd pick it up again is after grandkids." I frown at her. "Which I hope won't happen for another ten years or so," she quickly adds.

"Oh," I scoff. "You certainly don't have to worry about that."

If I don't thank Zion for anything else, I'm grateful that they pushed the issue of birth control. I've been having an insane amount of wild unprotected sex with Mr. Grey. Hell, the result of the assault from last Sunday still has me throbbing in my underwear.

 _That man most certainly wore me out._

 _"_ _I'm going to miss you next week" –_ he said as he took me in, out, and back into _Pound Town_.

"So…what about you?" my mother says, pulling me out of my forbidden reverie. "What do you do when you're not in school? If you're anything like your mother, you would have picked up and put down at least five new hobbies since I last saw you."

I laugh. " _Um_ …I don't know," I say bashfully.

"You sure? No new hobbies?"

"Well, _one_."

"What is it?"

"I recently started taking dance lessons," I say softly.

"My goodness, Ana," she gasps "That's fantastic. What type of dancing?"

"Everything," I say. "Ballet, Latin, jazz, hip hop…"

My mother stills for a moment, lending an ear to the faint sound of music piping through the terrace. I finally take notice of LeAnn Rimes belting out _Can't Fight the Moonlight._

"Give me a quick sample of what you've learned," Carla says all of the sudden.

"Here?" I gasp. "No way."

"Ana…please. Just a quick step or two."

I sigh. If it weren't for these cocktails, I wouldn't be doing this. "Fine," say with an eye roll as I stand up and step away a few feet from the table. I place my feet shoulder length apart and I do a rhythmic twirl while whipping my ponytail around. I rock up and back before swinging into a pirouette. I curtsy, and my mother is soon on her feet applauding me.

"My lord, Ana…that was… _Wow_." She's completely speechless.

I smile and nod, reclaiming my seat and reaching for my cocktail.

"I'm serious. That was amazing. What made you take up dancing?"

My spirit immediately sinks down to my feet. I've told lie on top of lie to Kate. I've lied to Ray. I don't have the energy or the strength to look Carla in her eye right now and lie to her. And in my silence, my own mother begins to read me like a book.

"Ana," my mother gasps. "Have you been intimate with this guy?"

"What?" I gape at her.

"I knew it," she beams, pointing a finger at me. "You've never shared any details with me about your sex life."

I frown in disgust. "It's because you're my _mother_."

"But you're an adult now, Ana. I'd always look forward to the day when you and I would finally become best girlfriends and share everything over a cocktail," she says as she raises her glass towards me. "And here we are."

 _Carla, you've always tried to be my girlfriend…even when I needed a mother.  
_ The thought is unsettling.

All of a sudden, something swoops down from the sky. Before I can even make a sound, that _something_ comes crashing down on the table and shards of glass begin to dance in midair. At first, I think it's either my drink or mom's that imploded. It takes a moment to realize that a stray golf ball just swooped down from the heavens and landed on the face of my brand-new iPhone.

My mom and I immediately turn towards the direction where we saw the ball come from, and we witness Walt with his hands on his head as he gapes over in our direction in horror. Bob looks furious. _Shit, that was Walt's ball that just hit us._ They immediately hop into the golf cart and make way towards us.

"Oh my God, Ana…are you okay?" my mother says accessing my face. "Did you get hurt?"

"No, I'm fine. It's just my phone."

I pick up what's left of it. It's not just the screen. The entire thing is dead. And suddenly I fall into a fit of uncontrollable laughter. My mother looks mortified. It doesn't take long for Bob and Walt to get here.

"What the hell!" my mother screams at the two men. "You just killed Ana's phone. That could've been our heads!"

Yep, Walt did a fantastic job assassinating my phone. His skills are comparable to Mr. Grey's at the night club's parking lot earlier this month.

"Ana, I am so sorry," Walt says, beyond remorseful. "I'll replace it first thing tomorrow."

"It's fine," I say, feeling terrible for the guy.

"No, it's not," my mother barks.

"Carla…Walt didn't mean for it to happen," Bob butts in.

"I don't care! He could've hurt Ana…or _me_!"

"But he didn't. Why didn't you girls stay inside to drink?"

"What?!" Oh boy. "I come here…day in and day out to support you and your friends who can't golf for shit…"

 _Jesus._ Mom's drunk and furious.  
Not a good combination.

Her and Bob start going back and forth and for a split second, I regret having what they have. But then I remember after the big fight that Christian and me had in the parking lot, it led to some very hot sex. I'm breathless just thinking about it.

"I'm taking you home, Carla," Bob groans. "You need a nap. Let's go, Ana."

….

Over dinner, I watched mom and Bob across the dinner table as he caressed her cheek and kissed her face every opportunity he got to do so. For most of the night, she beamed lovingly into his eyes. It's as if this afternoon never happened. I mean, Carla dissed Bob and his buddy's golf skills, for crying out loud. But it didn't matter to Bob anymore. Mom was now sober, and Bob was satisfied due to her spaghetti dinner.

As I lay alone in bed in the spare bedroom, I wonder if I'd ever have the same thing. It took my mother four tries to get there. I mean, the first one didn't really count since my biological father died a sudden death. Then when Ray came along, it was a great situation for me, but a not-so-great marriage for them. Then there was husband number three. We never talk about him.

I can't imagine enduring this feeling three other times before finding _'the one'_. I don't know if I have the strength in me to get my heart shattered like my iPhone just for it to get repaired and later destroyed all over again. I know that Christian Grey has the power to break my heart. I feel that I'm already in too deep with him. Either way, it's going to hurt, no matter what.

 _Should I just go ahead and rip off the bandage now before things get even worse? Would it be wise to take my mother up on her offer and move here after graduation in May?_

….

" _Mimosas_ ," Carla sings as she resurfaces at the breakfast table with two flutes with sparkling wine and a splash of orange juice. She hands me one.

"Breakfast was amazing," Bob says, rubbing his belly.

"Thanks for helping, dear," my mother says to me.

"Ana, you sure you don't want to move in with us after college? I could definitely get used to this," Bob beams at me.

"Hey," my mother says, pretending to be affronted. "Who'd you think taught her how to cook so well?"

Neither Bob or me say _'not you'_ , but we're most certainly thinking it as both of us avoid eye contact with her.

"Forget the two of you," she scoffs. Bob chuckles and then throws his arms around his wife and starts littering her face with kisses. She tries to fight him off, but her attempts are futile. I laugh at the two of them. All of a sudden, the doorbell rings, startling the three of us. Bob immediately springs to his feet and heads towards the front door.

"It's probably Walt with Ana's new phone," he says, trailing off.

"You'll have to give me the recipe to that quiche," my mother whispers. "That was _amazing_."

"Thank you," I giggle.

"Who taught you how to make that? Ray?"

I shake my head. "It was a recipe I found years ago. You know, I used to cook for Ray all the time. I had to be really creative for meals with him. You know how picky he can be."

Slowly, my mother's smile fades. "That's right. You had to take over in the kitchen after I left." I can see the sea of regret floating in her eyes. _Oh no mom, don't do this now._

"Ana?" I hear Bob call out. Both mom and I stand from our chairs and lean forward as he steps away from the door.

As soon as I blink, in walks a figure so familiar, yet so out of place in this house.  
All the air leaves my chest.

"Christian?" I gasp in total shock.

* * *

 ** _A/N: Faithful readers – I'm so sorry for posting so late. I ended up hanging out with friends on Saturday and fell severely behind. I also haven't been able to do much writing during the week. I've been lacking energy at night after work hours. I will be paying my doctor a visit Monday to see if I'm lacking in some very important nutrients. I'm hoping that she prescribes me with something that will provide that extra boost I'll need to get me back writing in the evenings once again. I'd love to kick out two chapters in one week like I used to do._**

 ** _So, in chapter 14 tentatively titled 'Salvation', Ana returns home from Thanksgiving break and is greeted by some serious blackmail material. How will she plan to get out of this mess?_**

 ** _Then, will the real José Rodriguez please stand up? Christian Grey would seriously like to kick your ass. Haha!_**

 ** _Until next week! XOXO – ST2_**


	14. Chapter 14 - Salvation

**Chapter 14** **–** **Salvation**

CHRISTIAN

The moment I step into the door of the bungalow past the older gentleman, presumably Bob Adams who's donning a hint of gray in his head of hair and stubbled chin, my sights are immediately set towards the open-area kitchen that's catty-corner from the living room.

 _It's as if my brain is automatically tuned to find her._

Anastasia stands there along with her mother. And as she gapes at me, I can't help but notice how beautiful she looks wearing that denim-colored off-the-shoulder jumpsuit that's tied in a knot at one hip. Her hair is pulled back in a ponytail with a couple of stray tendrils wisping over her cheek and forehead.

"Christian?" she says, pulling me out of my reverie. My first name rolling past her lips causes something unknown to churn inside of me.

"Good morning, ladies," I say, addressing her mother first before returning my gaze to her.

I'm beyond grateful that Anastasia's in one piece. This has honestly been the twenty-four hours from hell. I could have just as easily had someone else check in on her to make sure that she was alright. I am still pissed that she refused to have Sawyer tag along with her. Anastasia is beyond stubborn.

"Hello," Miss Steele's mother says, looking rather confused. As Anastasia starts to move towards the living room, so does her mother.

"I apologize for interrupting your breakfast," I say to Mr. Adams. "I'm Christian Grey." I extend my hand and he takes it.

"No worries," he nods, "we were just finishing up. I'm Bob."

"Pleased to meet you."

Mrs. Adams steps ahead of her daughter with a curious gleam in her eye.

"Carla," she says, and I gently take her extended hand.

I don't bother to check her daughter quite yet. I'm sure that she finds herself in an unfathomable situation. Honestly, I can't believe that I'm doing this either. I've never met the parents of a girl that I've been … _um_ … messing around with.

"Christian, right?" Carla verifies.

"Yes," I nod before turning to look at Miss Steele. Her discomfort is more than evident through her blush tint. "Anastasia," I say, taking her hand. But instead of holding it and shaking it, I put it to my lips and kiss it gently. Coyly, she turns her head to the side.

Carla gasps, "Ana…is this _him_?"

When I free her hand, her lips tighten and she barely nods.

"You're from Seattle?" her mother asks.

"I am." My sight returns to Anastasia and she looks to be embarrassed.

 _So, she's been talking to her mother about me.  
About what?_ – I wonder.

"You're Ana's… _boyfriend_?" Bob inquires with a puzzled squint.

"Yes."

Miss Steele's eyes widen in surprise of my answer. The single word just trips out of me. There'd be no other acceptable explanation for her parents as to what we are. Yes, we are in a monogamous relationship. Yes, we have lots and lots of sex. Yes, I do things for her and she does things to me. But there's no way in hell I could stand in the home of Anastasia's mother and stepfather and tell them what the score truly is. They'd never understand.

"Good heavens, and you've come all this way to see Ana, huh?" Carla beams.

I nod. "I did. I was a bit worried when I couldn't get ahold of her yesterday."

Anastasia's lids shield her eyes as if she's perturbed, and I know for certain that she'd rather roll them instead.

 _I couldn't track your phone and you didn't answer any of my calls and texts. What were you expecting me to do…just wait for you to get back Sunday night? No, I'm not one who normally waits when I have the power to go and find out things for myself._

"I'm afraid my golf buddy had something to do with that," Bob sighs.

"Walt's golf ball killed my phone yesterday," Miss Steele finally speaks.

"I see," I smirk at her.

"And I see that you couldn't wait until I got home tomorrow night. Instead, you traveled all this way for nothing."

"Not so," I say to her. "I'm looking at a potential site for a shipyard not too far from here."

"Are you?" she says, none too pleased. "This is the first I'm hearing about this."

"Christian, would you care for a cup coffee?" Miss Steele's mother interrupts.

I turn and smile. "Sure. Thank you."

I swear that I catch a blush as Mrs. Adams turns on her heel and walks away, taking her husband with her. Miss Steele and I stand alone in the living room and I angle myself and step forward so that we are face to face. Her eyes drop to the area rug and I reach in with both hands to lift her chin. Her sight remains downward.

"You may not be happy to see me at the moment, but I am very pleased to see you," I tell her. Her eyes finally rise to meet mine.

"I was coming home tomorrow," she mutters.

"I know," I say, releasing her face.

"So why did you come here?"

"I was worried."

She scoffs. "I'm fine. I'm here enjoying my holiday off with my mother and Bob."

"I didn't mean to intrude," I say sincerely. "I'll leave."

She sighs. "You're here now."

"If you want me to go, I'll go. I just wanted to make sure that you were alright."

"I'm fine. Honest," she whispers. "And you can't leave without having your coffee. My mother won't allow it."

"I don't want to stay unless you want me to."

"Christian? How do you take your coffee?" Mrs. Adams speaks up from across the way.

"Black, Mom," Anastasia speaks up in my stead. I narrow my eyes at her. It's odd, she knows how I take my coffee and I know how she likes her tea.

"Sometimes, I take cream," I say to her quietly with a smirk.

"I assume that's in the mornings. I've only ever seen you have coffee with dessert, and you usually drink it black." I can see her pained expression seeping through, and I know that it has everything to do with me leaving her alone every morning that we're together the night before. I try my best to lighten up the mood.

"I have to be in the mood for café au lait. It's rare, but I do enjoy it."

"Noted," she quips. "So…you're my _boyfriend_ , now."

"I guess so," I say, fighting a smile. "I'd figure it would be easier to explain than…"

"Yeah, you're right," she says, interrupting me.

"Christian," Mrs. Adams calls out. "Your coffee's all set."

….

Miss Steele and I step through the sliding glass door and onto the patio. It's a mild seventy-degrees outside. This would be a perfect summer day in Seattle, but it's the end of November. I can't imagine what it feels like down here in the heat of summer.

My eyes immediately go to the blue chlorine waters of the in-ground swimming pool. The grass outside of it hasn't turned brown yet, but there are stray crisp leaves all around. A few of them even float in the pool.

"I apologize for my mom," Miss Steele says, still embarrassed from earlier. Her mother engaged me in a slew of questions, but I had no problem answering them. She wanted to know how Anastasia and me first met, so I told her that we met at her job at Clayton's Hardware. Mrs. Adams then proceeded to ask me all about my business, which I was more than happy to share with her. But I'm not certain if that's what bothered Anastasia the most.

"You had her practically drooling," she groans. "I don't think that she'd imagine you being so good looking."

Her words take me aback. "What did she expect? Quasimodo?" I frown.

That glorious sound…the one that I've missed since l last saw her finally surfaces.  
She giggles.

"No – but still, she had no idea that you'd look like… _you_. And besides, I've never had a _boyfriend_ over to the house. This is all new for her."

"I see," I smirk.

"Bob was shocked when you told him to call Walt to cancel that new phone," she says.

"I already have a courier on the way with your replacement."

"I know. It's just, you're being all… _extra_ ," she says, emoting with her hands and wide eyes. "You fly all the way here from Seattle on your private jet. You knock on the door, surprising everyone. And then you take the liberty to order me a new phone on a Saturday to be delivered on the same day. You don't think that you can be a little _too much_ at times, Mr. Grey?"

When I see a teasing smile quivering on her lips, I can't help but take her face back into my hands and pull her lips to mine to kiss her gently.

"You know where my mind goes whenever I can't get ahold of you. And besides, this is how I look out for what is mine," I say before giving her lips another soft peck. "I've missed you."

"I've missed you, too," she breathes. "How was your Thanksgiving?"

"Fine," I say, kissing her lips again.

"Just _fine_?"

I nod.

"You went over to your folks' place in… _Belltown_ , is it?"

"Bellevue," I say, correcting her. "Yes."

"And your brother and sister were there?"

"They were," I say with a skeptical smirk.

"What did you guys eat?"

 _Miss Steele, inquisitive as ever.  
Just like her mother._

"Whatever it is people normally eat on Thanksgiving."

"I don't know what you guys have, but my mom doesn't prepare a turkey on Thanksgiving."

I frown. "You don't have turkey?"

"Carla doesn't like turkey. She says that it's too dry for her."

"Well, she must not be doing it right."

"That's exactly what I told her. I offered to cook a turkey, but she wouldn't let me. She's afraid that Bob might like it too much and will want her to start making it." I laugh. "When I do Thanksgiving in Montesano with Ray, my dad, I prepare a turkey," she adds.

"I see. So, you're telling me that there's not much that you _can't_ do?" I say as I gently tug the elastic band from her hair. Her gorgeous chestnut mane cascades over her shoulders and I smooth down the loose tendrils from before into the fold.

"I didn't say all of that," she sighs a chuckle. I watch as her head gradually follows my stroking hand. She relaxes, closing her eyes.

"I wish I could take you home with me," I say softly.

Her eyes perk up. "Home?"

"Yes. To Seattle."

"Why? So you can bring me into your _sex dungeon_?" she sasses with pursed lips.

"You need to stop thinking of my playroom as a dungeon. It isn't that at all," I protest softly. "It's an escape, Anastasia…not a prison. It's a place where you'll have all of the control."

"I seriously doubt that," she says with a skeptical face. "You're the dominant. _You_ would have all of the control."

"And I'd do nothing that you wouldn't allow me to do. Contrary to popular belief, Miss Steele, the submissive holds all of the power. The moment the submissive says the safe word, everything stops. No questions asked. You won't understand it until you're in there. Maybe I can show you during Christmas break?"

She frowns. "I'm spending my Christmas break with Ray."

"The _whole_ break? Will you be there through New Year's?" I say with wide open eyes.

"I don't know yet."

Surely, she can break away from Montesano on December 27th and join me in Seattle for a week. I have a bit of time to convince her to do so. If she accepts my invitation, she will certainly find out how marvelous a post-graduation situation with me could be if she'd only expand her horizons. I'll be able to give her just a preview of what's to come, and she will love it.

I let both of my fingers thread her hair and begin to massage her scalp. I see and feel her body becoming a tad limp as she falls into the feeling.

"So, did you manage to break any more rules in our agreement since you've been south?" I tease.

"Well in fact, yes. Yes, I did," she says, very proud of herself. I narrow my eyes at her.

"What did you do?"

"I danced." I gape at her. "For my mom."

"Oh," I say, amused. "Well, I hope you didn't show her that _Maneater_ routine. That one nearly gave me a heart attack for more than one reason." I smart at the memory.

"Hell no," she laughs. "It was just a thirty second demonstration."

"What did she say?"

"She loved it," she says with a proud smile. I pull her into my arms.

"You're a beautiful dancer, Anastasia Steele."

"Thank you," she says, breathing with her head tilted up at me. I lower mine to hers and kiss her lips as the Georgia sunlight reflects in the pool.

I pull away and smooth down her hair again. "You look so beautiful."

She responds by smiling a shy smile, and I can't help but steal another kiss from her. She is so intoxicating, and my lips are constantly being drawn to hers. I can't explain it.

"I guess I'll head out now. I was serious when I said that I was meeting someone to scope out potential land for another ship yard," I announce.

"Are you just going to buy or build businesses everywhere I go?" she chuckles.

Her words sort of sting, but when I finally digest them, I realize that she's right.  
But I don't tell her that.

"It's one of three potential sites, Miss Steele. I'm still on the fence considering how hot and miserable Georgia summers can be. I could _never_ live here."

"My mom loves it here," she answers.

"The stifling heat and raging allergies are an acquired taste, I'm sure."

She giggles. "Are you flying back tonight?"

I nod. "I'll text you on your new phone."

She nods back. "Okay."

"Have a safe flight back to Portland tomorrow."

"I will," she smiles.

This time, she wraps her arms around my waist before we engage in a long, sound goodbye kiss, making it very difficult for me to leave.

* * *

ANA

The moment I shut the front door after Christian leaves, I immediately turn to find my mother in the living room staring at me with a wide grin.

"Well then," she says, dripping with scandal.

" _Well_ what?"

She swallows. "I had no idea."

"You had no idea of _what_?" I say, already getting irritated with this little guessing game.

Bob takes that as his cue to excuse himself, leaving me and my cryptic mother to ourselves.

"He's a little… _intense_ when it comes to you," she finally says, but she doesn't throw out a negative vibe with her words.

"Ya think?" I spark, dripping with sarcasm.

"He just cares a great deal about you. I mean, why would he have traveled all this way?"

"One thing about Christian Grey, mom – he never goes anywhere unless he can attach it to a business reason." Immediately his first visit to Zion comes to remembrance. I also recalled when he mentioned that he doesn't really travel anywhere these days unless it's for business.

My mother and me take a seat side by side on the nearby sofa. Looking at me with skeptical eyes, she says, "So, you're saying that he didn't fly here because he missed you and he was upset that he couldn't get ahold of you?"

 ** _"_** ** _You know where my mind goes whenever I can't get ahold of you."_**

 ** _"_** ** _I've missed you."_**

The words that he spoke out back a short time ago quickly come to remembrance, but then reality sets in. _He didn't stay for long. He left as soon as he realized that I was just fine and had a new phone on the way._

"I'm saying that he wouldn't have come here in the first place if there was no business for him to conduct here."

"And what if he made it up?"

I frown. "He wouldn't _lie_ about conducting business here, mom."

"I didn't say that," she recants.

"That's what I heard…"

"No, what I'm saying is – what if he created another reason to be here? Not to say that he'd never considered Georgia for his… _whatever_ …"

"Shipyard."

"…what I'm saying is that… Look…it's a Saturday. It's the Saturday after Thanksgiving. If you weren't here, he probably would've waited until the following business day to engage in business. Instead, he comes here when _you're_ here. Wouldn't you normally be with him on a Saturday?"

Right now, I'm thinking – _Oh god, Mom, I absolutely hate it when you start making sense. It's beyond frustrating._ But then that notion completely washes away at the thought of him leaving. He could've at least stayed for dinner. I mean, Mom practically begged him to stay and he _still_ left. I know – he's flying out late tonight, but it's not like he couldn't have stayed until the morning. Who knows…I might've even foregone my commercial flight and flown back west with him on his nifty little jet. I'm sure that would've been rather cool.

I guess we'll never know.

"He has legit business here. If he didn't, he would've accepted your dinner invitation."

When I say the words, they almost feel spiteful trampling out of me. The moment I see my mother's visual response, I know that she receives my words the same way.

"You're having doubts. That's right. It's the reason you didn't want to tell me his name. It's why you're not certain that you want to take the leap and move to Seattle with Kate."

Gold star for Carla. I don't nearly give her all the credit that she deserves. Still, I don't confirm or deny her hunch.

"I peeked into the yard while you two were back there," she reveals.

 _Really? She was spying on us?_ I feel my blood pressure rising.

"Mom…"

She beams at me all proud-like. "He couldn't keep his hands off of you. He obviously adores you, Ana."

Part of me wishes that my mother knew everything. If she did, she'd be just as doubtful as I am. Carla's not there when I wake up alone at The Heathman with a check on the pillow right next to me. She's not there when I'm wishing for a phone call from him, or an email that has nothing to do with my security or my next appointment to dance for him.

But the other part of me is still fairly protective of him. I wouldn't want my mother to think of him in a negative light regardless of how I might feel at a given moment. There are still very loving qualities about him, even though I haven't fully gone past his armored exterior yet. Yes, I still don't know why he doesn't let me touch him in certain places. I don't understand why he doesn't like falling asleep next to anyone. However, he makes it his business to ensure that I have absolutely everything that I need.

Technically, I can stop dancing for him today. I'm sure he's well aware that he's already covered my tuition for the entire school year, not to mention my entire portion of the rent for the apartment until Kate and I move out.

Grey also paid my car in full. Well… _two_ cars. And when he orders my costumes to dance in, he has his personal stylist include a few outfits that I can wear out. _Oh_ …and let's not forget the iPhone. No, _two_ iPhones. Also, his salary to me paid for a new MacBook and iPod…a MacBook that had I'd even bothered to pack and bring along with me, I would've seen his email. I could have saved him the trip to Georgia.

However, seeing him here sort of made me glad that I left my laptop at home and that Walt pulverized my phone. Regardless of how fucked up our situation currently is, I was still quite glad to see Christian. And I could just as easily stop dancing for him now that I have everything I need to finish school. But for one, it would be rather shitty of me to quit now since our client/artist contract doesn't technically end until January 1st. Yes – I finally read the damn thing. I shake my head at the thought of him leaving no stone unturned in that stupid, un-legally binding document...especially the part about me not being allowed to dance for anyone else.

What I don't get is the part that allows the end date of our contract to be amended through May when I graduate. Why didn't he just set the contract to end in May in the first place and be done with it? Did he do it this way in order to provide himself with an out? Or perhaps he did it for me. He knew that I was skeptical to start something with him outside of Zion, especially after that woman paid me a visit and exposed his out-of-the-ordinary sexual appetite to me.

 _Sweet lord_ , just the thought of him tying me up to the bed…or cuffing my limbs behind me before teasing me and fucking me sends a wave of electricity right through me. _Maybe I'm just as freaky as he is?_ I make a mental note to share my ponderings with Joy the next time I see her. I need to ask her how normal it is to have a playroom and whether or not I should be frightened to venture there if I decide to spend time in Seattle before heading back to school in January.

"Love's a scary thing, Ana."

My mother words abruptly yank me out of my train of thought.

" _Love_?" I sigh.

"Yes… _love_. That's what I saw back there," she says with a loving smirk. "Well, _that_ along with some _major_ sexual tension."

I groan. "I think that you need to get your eyes checked, Mom. When was the last time you've seen an optometrist? You used to bug Ray about that all the time…"

"You're in protective mode," she says, interrupting me. "I get it. You don't want your heart broken. You've always been a risktaker, Ana. You decided to venture out of Montesano and attend WSU in Vancouver. You chose a major that doesn't guarantee riches, despite the protests of your high school academic advisor. I think that you get that part from me. But when it comes to matters of the heart, you're more like Ray."

Her words pinch me deep down, but I remain silent and let her continue speaking.

"Sometimes, you just have to allow yourself to love. Don't think about what could happen. Years from now, I don't think that you'll ever regret just living in the moment."

"You don't regret marrying Ray? Or Stephen?" I volley.

"No," she says without missing a beat. "I don't. If I never married Ray, he wouldn't be in your life today. He's the father that I prayed for you to have after your biological father died."

I couldn't imagine Raymond Steele not being in my life.  
He means _everything_ to me.

"And Stephen?" she continues. "That needed to happen. It taught me how to be wiser. I learned how to not ignore it when a man tells you who he really is through his actions."

My breath hitches at my mother's words. Maybe that's why I'm so reluctant to assign a name to my feelings. Maybe my mind's trying to tell me that all of these things that I still have questions about...questions that Christian refuses to answer, it's a clear sign. Perhaps he's showing me who _he_ really is, and I need to not ignore that.

"I know what you're thinking," my mother says cautiously. I blink. "You think that having doubt is the same as what I'm talking about. It's not. Doubt is a natural emotion. It's our heart's natural defense mechanism. Doubt and ignoring doubt wasn't my problem with Stephen. My issue had everything to do with me feeling as though I didn't deserve to be treated better. I don't see that in your situation, Ana. I'm sure that if Christian weren't treating you the way you felt that you deserved, you would immediately pull the plug on that."

My head automatically sinks down to my chest. She definitely hit a nerve.

"Ana?" I hear her say before I feel her scoot closer and wrap her arm around me. "Does he not treat you well?"

"He does," I murmur. "It's just…" Immediately, my mind is filled with scrambled pictures of the past two months. It's both surreal and grounding. And I realize that what I'm most afraid of is that if this is truly _love_ , it's one-sided.

"...it's _complicated_ ," I finally spit out. And there goes that word again. It's a word that I never thought would ever be associated with me.

"I know that you're not telling me everything, nor am I asking you to," my mother says so sweetly. "I just want you to know that I'm here whenever you need me. If you fall, I'm here. When you're floating in the clouds and don't understand why, I'm here. And as I said before, if you decide to not make the move to Seattle after you graduate, Bob and I will be more than happy to have you here in our home until you make up in your mind what you want to do. _Okay_?"

When I lift up my head to see my mother's face, I don't realize that I'm crying until she blots away a stray tear with her thumb.

"I love you so much, sweetie," she says, kissing my forehead.

"I love you too, Mom," I exhale, holding her close.

….

It's almost one o'clock in the morning when I enter my apartment. _What in the hell was I thinking when I decided to book such a late flight home on a school night?_ I leave my suitcase in the middle of the floor and approach the credenza against the wall near the kitchen. It's where we place all of our recently delivered mail.

As I begin to thumb through my stack, I realize that most of it is junk. It bugs me to no end how much these financial institutions go after struggling college students. Just to the side is a yellow full-sized envelope addressed to me. It has no return address on the front. I place the letters in my hand down and pick up the other. I flip it over. _No return address here, either._

I figure that it's probably some junk mail disguised as something important, but I open it up anyway. I reach inside and catch a glimmer of something glossy. The moment I pull it out, a small square note lands upside down on top of my junk mail pile. I ignore it and turn over the glossy sheet in my hand. It's a photograph.

 _Oh my god_ – I gasp when it dawns on me that I'm looking at a crystal clear 8 x 10 of Christian and me kissing in my mother's yard by the pool on Saturday. I am literally shaking.

I quickly flip over the note that fell on the table.

 ** _Call this number as soon as you see this.  
503-555-2454_**

" _Oh no_ ," I gasp.

I'm freaking out. There's no way I can go to bed after seeing this. I shouldn't have opened it. Now my brain is all over the place.

 _Should I call Christian?  
Should I call the police?  
Should I wake up Kate? _

_I mean…what in the hell should I do right now?_

The only thing that I can think to do after pacing the kitchen and living room for several minutes is to call the number on the note. Curiosity has certainly gotten the worst of me. I pull my phone from my purse and I catch the ' _Goodnight'_ text from Mr. Grey that he sent not too long after I texted him about my landing. I bypass the message alert and bring up the dial pad. I go ahead and dial the number that was written in the note. I wait until I'm in my bedroom with the door closed before hitting _send_. The phone doesn't even have a chance to ring on my side.

"Well, Miss London," growls a creepy familiar voice.

 _It's Jay Dark._  
My gut practically retches.

"What do you want?" I gasp.

"You will ditch Christian Grey and return to Zion for work Tuesday night. And if you don't, I will publish photos of the philanthropic billionaire messing around with a student- _slash_ -dancer. A student that so happened to dance at my private club. Oh yes, I _will_ expose the video of you dancing, too."

I feel like I'm seconds away from throwing up.

 _My mother will find out.  
Ray will find out.  
Kate will find out.  
Everyone on campus will know. _

"I don't mind Zion getting the publicity. However, I'd prefer it if you'd just return to work. I have too many high paying clients asking for you," he says in a grating voice that makes my skin crawl. "Also, I don't think that your notoriously private boyfriend would appreciate his personal business getting out there. So I recommend you tell him _nothing_ , or you'll seriously regret it," he growls.

 _Oh my god.  
The man's insane._

Why is he doing this to me? I'm not the only dancer in this world. I'm not even near the top of the middle echelon of dancers. Hell, I only started dancing two freaking months ago! Why is Jay Dark so obsessed in me dancing for him, that he is willing to risk the discrete nature of his hideout for extremely wealthy men?

This is happening. This is _really_ happening. Finally, I am fully aware of his sick, sick motive. There's no more guessing as to what this asshole wants from me.

I am hyperventilating, unable to breathe.

"Also, how do you think it would look to the media that your university's most recent top donor decided on the school because the student that he's currently fucking goes there? As a result, he passed up on more deserving schools like UW and USC Berkeley. That's certainly not a good look for WSU Vancouver, Grey Enterprises, _or_ you. So, I highly advise you to play ball and come to work on Tuesday at seven."

Before I can protest, he hangs up the phone.  
I am soon in tears.

* * *

CHRISTIAN

I didn't hear much from her on Monday. I just assumed that she was busy getting back into the swing of things at school after her break. So, I'm pleasantly surprised to see her calling me not long after I return to my office from a brutal early-afternoon workout with my trainer in the basement gym.

"Anastasia."

"Hey," she says, short. I can immediately tell that something's wrong with her.

"What's going on?" I frown.

"I just wanted to let you know that I'm going somewhere this evening."

"Sure," I say, confused. "As long as Sawyer is with you."

"He won't be. Not at first, anyway," she says cryptically.

I instantly feel my inner alarm going off.

"What do you mean?"

"I'm well aware that you track my phone and car."

"That's no secret," I snip.

"I'm going to Zion tonight."

If there was a vinyl record playing, the needled would've scratched it and brought the music to a screeching halt.

"You will do no such thing," I say sternly.

"Christian…I need to face Jay Dark once and for all."

"No, you don't," I hiss. "I'm handling it."

"We've been compromised," she says quietly. "He had pictures taken of us in my mother's yard in Georgia on Saturday. He sent me the proof."

 _That motherfucker._ I knew Sawyer should've followed her there, but she never fucking listens. Now Dark's blackmailing her.

"What did he say to you?" I seethe.

"It doesn't matter," she says as calmly as she possibly can. But if I know better, she's absolutely falling apart right now.

"Don't you go anywhere…do you hear me? I'll take my helicopter there and I'll deal with Dark."

"No, you can't," she gaps. "The moment he sees you, he will know that I have no intention of dancing..."

"Because you're not!" I shout.

"I know that I'm not," she strikes back with an attitude, "but I want him to _think_ that I am."

"Hell no. I won't let you," I say angrily. "It's _not_ safe."

"You have to trust me," she softly pleads. I know that she's trying to ease my worry, but it doesn't work.

"I can't let you take any chances. I need you to stay put and let me and Taylor handle this."

From her breathing, I can tell that she's getting more and more frustrated with me, but I can't help that. I am going to make certain that she understands that she absolutely _cannot_ step a single foot inside of Zion, or Jay Dark has won. Zion is his domain. There's no way that she can possibly best him on his playing field.

"While you were busy working out _your_ plan, I've been working out mine," she counters. "I knew this day would come. You're just going to have to trust me because I'm going to do this my way, whether you like it or not."

 _The hell you will._

"My way is the only way to silence him for good without causing any collateral damage," Miss Steele continues. "Look, if you don't believe me, you can call your financial forensics guy. He'll tell you everything."

I narrow my eyes at the thought of my financial forensic investigator not keeping me fully abreast of the situation. "I'll call him right now," I gruff. "In the meantime, you stay put and don't move until you hear from me. Am I clear?"

"Look, if it makes you feel better, you and Taylor can wait for me three miles from Zion," she offers.

Frustrated, I breathe harshly. I suddenly realize that I've been on my feet pacing the entire length of my office.

"What time are you going to be there?"

"Seven," she answers.

"If I don't hear from you fifteen minutes after you enter that building, Taylor, me, and the entire police department will break that fucking door down," I growl. "I have more than enough information to bust him and his operation on illegal prostitution."

"I know you do," she says, and I can hear the chill in her shaky voice.

More than anything, I know that she's torn by the fact that her good friends have been subjected to sexual abuse at work. But what she doesn't know is that Jay Dark fully permitted his good friend Stefan Neumann, a married man and father, to engage in sexual activity with his unwilling female employees in the VIP room. It's something that his former VP of sales at SNA Corp, now my current VP of sales, spilled to me over early evening beers a couple of weeks ago. It's beyond sickening.

He almost had Anastasia. _Almost._ Oh yeah…I'm not nearly done making Neumann's life a living hell. I'm just getting started with him. Soon, Jay Dark will be wishing that I'd never step foot in his shitty club.

I know that Miss Steele wants nothing more than to see her friends be free to dance again without the added pressure of sexually pleasing clients. So, not only is she eager to do this for this her own safety, but she's doing his for all of the girls of Zion and future girls just like them who'll have no idea what they're getting themselves into when they sign up to work there.

* * *

ANA

"The red pill," I call out after knocking. When the heavy metal door creeks open, I immediately wished that I took the blue one at the very start. Soon, I view a sight for sore eyes. Shaun doesn't say a word to me as I stroll in; he only nods.

Over at the crystal-beaded counter, I come across Tanya and Marie – two girls who I always thought hated me from the moment I first set foot in here. Marie beats me to it, pulling up the hidden latch at the side of the counter to allow me behind it. Without any verbal greeting or warning, the two girls pull me into a warm hug. I could fall apart just now, but I hold fast.

"Is he here?" I ask.

"He's in his office," Tanya whispers.

"Good," I mouth. Marie rubs my shoulder and I head on towards the back.

It's bittersweet roaming the back halls of Zion. There were a few gapes of those surprised to see me back here. One of the cooks even asked if I was working today. I just shrugged my shoulders in response. "We'll see," I said, knowing good and goddamn well I'm never working here ever again.

The walk to Dark's office is especially long tonight. I figured that this is my brain's way of telling me that I can change my mind. I could just as easily tell Grey to leave me alone and that I really want to come back to dance at Zion. I'd be protecting his reputation as well as preventing myself from getting expelled from school due to the negative publicity. I'd also be protecting the jobs of all of my friends who still work here.

Before I know it, I'm right outside of Dark's door. It's cracked open.

 _You can walk away now, Steele.  
Once you go in there, you can't undo it._

But I think about all of the invasion of privacy moments. The stalking on campus. Being chased on the road and at school. The photographs taken all the way in Georgia.

 _Enough is enough._

Gently, I push in the door and the entrance slowly widens until I see the scary, balding older man sitting behind the desk. He looks up. He flashes me a sick grin.

"Well, well, well," he snarls. "Welcome back, London. Please, come in."

I slowly walk forward.

"You can close the door," he grunts.

I ignore him, leaving the door ajar. No fucking way am I sitting alone behind closed doors with this fucking creep.

"Have a seat," he offers, but I remain standing.

"You're in jeans and a t-shirt. You do plan on changing into costume, right?" he smirks.

Before I can respond, I see Dark's yellow-looking eyes widen as he focuses right behind me. I hear footsteps. _They're just in time._ I feel relieved. I glance behind me and I see Sweetness, Miranda, Starla, several other dancers, Elaine, and Becky all filing in. I move forward in order to ensure that everyone is in and surrounding Dark's desk.

"What in the hell are all of you doing in here?" he growls. "Get to work!"

"As long as you're at the helm, we won't be working here," Miranda says to him with strong resolve. Immediately, I feel pride bubbling up inside of me.

"The hell you will," he seethes. "I will make certain the doctors stop treating your parents if you do. And you, Starla. Don't you even think about leaving here. There's no place in town that'll ever hire you after I show them the videos of you fucking the clients in the VIP room."

There's a collective gasp across the room. My eyes go wide and round. I am mortified.

"Oh, you didn't know?" Dark says with a satisfying sneer. "I recorded _everything_. I even shared some of the footage with some of our top clients."

"You son of a bitch!" Becky screams and charges forward, but Elaine and I hold her back. Dark doesn't even falter. Instead, he sets his filthy sights on me.

"Do you think that Stefan Neumann or Dawson Jacobs would like to see Christian Grey finger bang his way to London?"

Immediately, the bile rises up to my chest. If I could, I'd leap across that desk and choke the living shit out of him. He's scum. Christian swore that Dark didn't have any cameras back there. _Little did he know._

"That's right. I have it all. And if you girls don't all get to work right this second, you'll regret it. All of you!"

Soon, Betsy strolls in looking beside herself. I've never seen the sweet southern woman look so angry. But not long after she arrives, L-Mo rears her ugly red head.

"Hey! What in the hell are all of you doing here?" she shrieks, scanning the room full of riled up women. "If you don't leave and get to work, you're all fired!"

 _This bitch really is clueless, isn't she?  
Jay has her completely in the dark. _

"And BD, you're trespassing, lady," she snarls at my dance mentor. Betsy practically slices up Lauren with her eyes. It's a look that I'd never want to be on the receiving end of.

L-Mo then turns to me. "I don't know what game it is you think you're running here, but you aren't as smart as you think you are. You might as well give up. We have everything that we need on you, so there's no use to rallying the girls on your side. They have everything to lose, so you can't pull them down with you. It's best you comply and get back to work or you risk exposing everything. Do you want that?"

"Unbelievable," I hear Betsy groan in disgust next to me.

When I close my eyes for a beat, I hear another set of footsteps behind me. And for a second, I pray that it's Christian. _Has it been fifteen minutes, yet?_

"Who the hell are you?" I hear Dark bite.

I turn and witness two sharp dressed men in suits. They must shop at _The House of Christian Grey_.

"Hello. I'm Don McCoy," says the guy with dark hair. "And this is Mike Miller. We work on Mr. Christian Grey's legal team."

L-Mo's eyes are wide enough to roll out of their sockets, while Dark nostrils are big enough to suck them in. He's beside himself.

"He's a new member here!" L-Mo shouts, pointing at the man with the closely shaved head – Mike Miller.

"Yes, I'm a forensic financial investigator. I was here to gather proof of Mr. Dark's ownership of this club."

"Of course I own this fucking club," Dark squawks.

"We knew that," McCoy chimes. "We also have proof of your operation having over one hundred and thirteen violations that would absolutely shut you down today if the DA found out."

"We also have proof that you have been stalking and blackmailing Miss Anastasia Steele, as well as running an operation that includes sex trafficking. The DA would have an open and shut case with all of the evidence that we've collected," adds Miller without as much as blinking.

"You _fucking_ asshole!" Dark shouts, leapfrogging out of his chair. "You're lying!"

Immediately, his girlfriend rushes over to his side and places her hands on his shoulders, attempting to calm him down. It doesn't work.

"How in the fuck did you two even get back here!" Dark spouts, livid.

"I joined your club a few weeks ago," Miller reminds him.

"Yeah, yeah…but who fucking allowed you back here in my office!" Dark seethes at Miller and his partner.

All of the sudden, another figure steps foot into the room.

"That would be me," a deep voice announces. Everyone in the room turns in unison, and all heads tilt upward to witness the towering giant that is Shaun. His hand is raised clear in the air so that there'd be no mistake; it was _he_ who'd let Christian Grey's lawyers in.

I feel absolutely giddy just seeing Shaun here. When Becky told me that he was on our side, I didn't believe her. I thought he was completely loyal to Dark's cause. I always believed that he was a nice, sweet guy, but he's on security detail. And what I learned after quitting was that security was instructed not to help any of the girls if they were in a private session with a high-rolling VIP. Come to find out, Shaun is just as sick and fed up as the rest of us who are being controlled by the disgusting Jay Dark and his dirty bitch, _Elmo_.

"Get the fuck out of my club!" Dark screams at Shaun. "You're fucking fired!"

"Not so fast," a female voice calls out from just outside of the door. Soon, Sasha House and a woman who I presume is her mother surface at the door. Lauren Moratti appears as if she's about to lose her lunch, while Dark looks like he's seen a ghost.

"Jeremiah Dark. Why you despicable son of a bitch," the older House spits out in extreme contempt. "You were running a gentlemen's club with a side order of sex that generated over a billion dollars for you in a short period of time, covering up your income like the dirty weasel you are. When I'm done with you, you and your skank won't own a goddamn thing except that old shoe box in the alley that I walked past to get in here."

All of a sudden, Lauren starts sobbing like a little girl before she takes off like one, leaving her boyfriend behind to face the music all alone.

"Sasha, _honey_ …," Dark gasps, pleading for mercy, "… _Karen_ …," but the women aren't hearing any of it.

"Fuck you, Dad," Sasha spits at him.

"Mr. Dark," utters Miller, one Christian's lawyers. "It's all over for you."

And as the fallen king of Zion sits back on his crumbling throne and sinks down in it in sheer defeat, the _Hallelujah_ chorus begins to play loudly in my head.

 _Checkmate, Jay Dark._

* * *

 ** _A/N: Faithful readers – First of all, sorry for the errors. I wasn't able to connect with my pre-reader in time to get them corrected. Rest assured, I will be fixing errors as I see them between now and tomorrow. I wanted to make sure that I got this chapter out to you by the end of the night._**

 ** _For those of you who were expecting something long and juicy, hopefully I at least delivered on the 'juicy' part, haha! I apologize for the short chapter this week. Firstly, I thought that this would be a good place to end it since many of you don't care for cliff hangers, haha! Secondly, I have a ton of things on my plate work-wise. Things should start to settle down for me the closer we get to the 4_** ** _th_** ** _of July._**

 ** _Moving forward in APD – Although her war with Jay Dark and Zion has finally ended, a new battle is now front and center. Ana goes back and forth between what she haves and what she feels that she deserves out of a relationship with the enigmatic Christian Grey. This will be the crux of our story moving forward. I hope you will enjoy the ride!_**

 ** _Thanks for reading! – ST2_**

 ** _PS: To the "Guest" reviewer who continues to complain about the use of 'Becky and I' instead of 'Becky and me', the autocorrect feature in Microsoft Word version 16.14.1 says, "KMA." If you're going to pick apart the grammar of someone who is doing this for FREE outside of their very demanding full-time job, please have the decency to register for an account, PM me, and offer up your complementary beta services that way – minus the shitty attitude. Otherwise, feel free to overlook the spelling and grammar and keep it moving just like everyone else._**

 ** _Stay classy._**


	15. Chapter 15 - Absorption

**Chapter 15** **–** **Absorption**

CHRISTIAN

As I sit in the backseat of my Portland-domiciled SUV just a few blocks away from Zion, I can't process for the life of me how one single solitary girl can cause my mind to go topsy-turvy. Maintaining a business with over _forty thousand_ employees globally is much easier by leaps and bounds than urging _one_ Anastasia Steele to follow the rules that I've set in place in order to keep her safe.

A wise person wouldn't have wanted to be anywhere near me last Friday afternoon when I suddenly lost the ability to track Miss Steele's cell phone. Unfortunately for Taylor, he had no choice but to endure my madness. My emails and texts to Anastasia went unanswered, and all of my calls were directed straight to voicemail. For the next four to six hours after that, I feared the absolute worse.

 _Is she in danger?_

 _What if she got into an auto accident and no one knew about it?_

 _What if that asshole who was chasing her around campus, the one that Dark hired, finally got ahold of her?_

 _What if she found someone else to dance for and decided to do away with her phone._

 _FUCK._

I thrive off of control, so one could imagine how fucked up I was when I realized that I had no control what-so-ever over the situation. Selfishly, I didn't want her to go to Georgia in the first place. Yeah, yeah…I know, she wanted to spend time with her mother over the long holiday weekend, but I came so damned close to extending her an offer to join me at my parents' place for Thanksgiving dinner. Granted, I'm sure the experience would have been rather awkward for her. Not to mention, it would have been extremely annoying for me due to my entire family riding my ass the entire time.

I've never brought home any girl… _ever_. And just like Katherine Kavanagh, I'm certain that my mother thinks that I bat for the other team. Bringing Miss Steele home for a holiday dinner would have certainly caused major waves. Elliot would've done his absolute worst to embarrass me by telling her stories – such as the one about the time when I lost my baggy swim trunks while swimming in the lake; whereas Mia, the queen of oversharing would've told Anastasia all about the times when I was sent home early from school after being suspended for fighting.

And Grace, my mother would've gone out of her way to ensure that Anastasia was included in every family function moving forward. Even to this day, Grace does it to every single trollop that Elliot dares to bring home.

 _"_ _Elliot, sweetheart – will Natalie be joining us for Sunday dinner?"_

 _"_ _Mom, it's Michelle. Natalie was last month."_

Fortunately, my father, Carrick is the least annoying out the bunch.

So, when I nearly extended the Thanksgiving offer to Miss Steele, I decided that I couldn't deal with the thought of my family making such a big deal over us. But the moment I saw her tracker heading in the direction of the airport, I immediately regretted not asking her to join me. And although it was highly unlikely that she'd cancel her trip to Georgia anyway, I still felt remorseful for not even daring to ask in the first place.

Thursday came and went. Then, in the wee hours of Friday, I decided to take the " _L_ " for the boys – Dad and Elliot – and join Mom and Mia for their Black Friday shopping ritual. I don't know why they love doing that shit every year…fighting the ridiculously long lines and insane crowds at numerous locations. I could've just as easily paid someone else to shop for them. There's also this hip new thing called _online shopping_. However, joining the ladies on their absurd quest did provide me with a much-needed distraction. Unfortunately, that distraction could only last for so long.

 _That dress would look stunning on Anastasia_ – I thought to myself in the women's formal wear section while appraising a silver sleeveless gown with a deep V-neck accented with sparkling embroidery. The moment my sister's eyes begin to question me, I immediately stepped away from the dress before she'd even dare to question me with her mouth. When I managed to steal away from her and Grace for a brief moment, I returned to the dress and snapped a quick photo with plans of sending it to Caroline Acton, my personal shopper later.

Around ten in the morning, which would've been one o'clock Miss Steele's time, I decided to check the app on my phone for her whereabouts since I hadn't heard from her for the past two days. When the app loaded, it appeared as if she'd literally disappeared from the face of the earth. The second Grace and Mia entered the fitting room, I immediately reached out to Welch, who'd soon inform me that Miss Steele's phone was out of order.

 _"_ _Could she have turned it off, perhaps?" I proposed._

 _"_ _The tracker should still work even if she powered down her phone," Welch said. "This is the same surveillance program that the FBI uses. Either her phone has completely run out of juice, or it's been destroyed somehow_."

That's when I texted her. And called. And emailed. By hour three, I was literally crawling out of my skin.

 _Charge your fucking phone, Anastasia_ – I thought. I remember how warm my skin was as my blood singed the surface.

 _"_ _Christian, what's wrong? You look flustered."_

 _"_ _I've gotta go. I need to handle something at the office," I said to Grace._

 _"_ _You work too much, sweetheart. Your sister and I were having such a lovely time with you."_

 _"_ _Sorry – I'll call you later. Promise."_

I kissed my mother and then my sister both on the cheek in the middle of Nordstrom before taking off. Taylor was already on standby, waiting outside of the mall. A short time afterwards, I found myself in my study at my apartment, calling the house phone number that I had on file for the Adams' Savannah, Georgia residence. I struck out.

I was aware that Miss Steele had a MacBook, so I couldn't understand for the life of me why she hadn't as much as responded to one of my emails. I found myself growing increasingly insane with each passing moment.

 _Is she in trouble?_

 _Is she avoiding me?_

Before I could lose my mind even more, I decided to make the call to round up the jet and take the trip southeast. I also reached out to my head of global facilities, who was in the middle of a family gathering in Idaho but remained diligent in setting up a last-minute looksee with me and the land owners of the property in Georgia that we were considering buying in order to establish our shipping presence on the east coast.

It was a shot in the dark, but I felt that I needed to have another reason for going to Georgia, besides barging in on Miss Steele's holiday weekend…which I would've done anyway even if I wasn't able to meet with the land owners.

As I predicted, Miss Steele was rather shocked to see me when I entered her mother's home. But eventually, she mellowed out. However, her mother wasn't what I expected. Anastasia doesn't really speak of her mother much, so I had no idea know how close they were. It was evident that her mother truly cared based on the number of questions she asked me. It also seemed as if things are going quite well in marriage number four.

 _Four_ marriages? Hell, even one marriage seems inessential – especially these days. I believe that we're living in a day and age where it's more acceptable to be in a long term monogamous relationship and not have to involve the government in your personal affairs. They have far too much access to our lives as it is. Hell, I utilize many of their top-secret technologies, so I know exactly what they're capable of.

I understand why my parents married; it was expected back then. And they've certainly beat the odds by remaining together after all these years. However, I sure as hell don't plan on following in their footsteps. And I can assure you that Elliot could care less about the idea of settling down with one woman for the rest of his life.

These days, people are getting married and divorced as if it's inconsequential. I'm sure that many can tell the tale of that couple that they know who were in a long-term relationship, only to get married, and then divorced not long after signing the marriage certificate.

 _The only personal relationship contract that I'll ever sign is the one that I compose and print out from my office after my prospective submissive agrees to the terms._

Now, Mia on the other hand is much different than Elliot and me. She's _Miss Pie In The Sky_ and _Head In The Clouds_ when it comes to the idea of marriage. She's speaks proudly whenever she reminds anyone who's willing to listen that she already has her dress picked out for her big day. I'm rather certain the dress will change because _A_ – it's Mia and she's forever revising her ideas about fashion. And _B_ – she doesn't have a boyfriend at the moment, so I'm sure by the time she gets one, she'll no longer desire that dress. Mia is rather… _high maintenance_ , to put it lightly. But aside from that, my little sister truly has a heart of gold.

I'm certain that Mia and Anastasia would get along just fine if they were to ever meet, but due to the current and the _hopefully_ impending circumstances of Miss Steele's and my arrangement, I don't foresee that happening anytime soon.

As I glance at the time, I immediately think that this is the longest fucking ten minutes ever. I'm extremely tempted to go back on my word with Miss Steele and rush inside of Zion with force. And even though Sawyer is not too far behind her and has a huge motivation to not only ensure that nothing happens to Anastasia, but to his girlfriend, it still doesn't do much to ease the anxious feeling of not knowing what the hell's going on behind those closed warehouse doors.

"Five minutes, Sir," Taylor announces.

 _I know…I fucking know_ – I sigh to myself. Madness is feverishly bubbling up inside of me. I feel like a feral cat back here, clawing at the walls.

 _Dammit, Anastasia…why couldn't we have just done this my way?_

It makes me nauseous to no end thinking about her all alone in the office with Jay Dark. That fucking creep. When I first began seeing Miss Steele – back when she was Miss London, I checked the private room for cameras, and there were none. The more I went there, the more careless I became. Being absent minded when it comes to my safety as well as the safety of others that matter to me isn't a trait that I generally possess.

So, the moment that I discovered that Dark was surveilling Anastasia, I knew that he was the exact type that would do whatever it took, no matter what the cost. Afterwards, when I found out about how he allowed his dancers to get sexually assaulted by his VIP clients, my feeling about him from earlier was cemented.

That's when I urged Welch to dig deeper. He and his team of tech experts managed to tap into Zion's network and discovered that there were in fact cameras installed in _all_ of the private rooms. I was fucking livid.

Thankfully, Welch was able to delete the content featuring Miss Steele that still remained on the servers, but that doesn't mean that the sick asshole, Jay Dark didn't already move any of the footage to secondary storage.

I didn't bother to tell Miss Steele that we were being watched and recorded during our sessions, because I knew how that would have affected her. However, I did have my legal team contact Shaun from security to request that he do his best to erase any footage of me that he can find. According to the team, Shaun managed to get his hands on quite a few copies floating around outside of the main server, which he deleted. Needless to say, he was handsomely rewarded for his efforts. Anything else that Shaun didn't get ahold of will be handled by the lawyers once Dark is subpoenaed.

The sick feeling reignites in my gut thinking about how slow time is moving. Just before I have the chance to tell Taylor – _Fuck it, we're going in_ _ **now**_ , I receive a new text message. It's from Miss Steele.

 **It's done. I'm leaving Zion now and letting  
the lawyers and police take it from here.**

"Thank god," I sigh out loud in sheer relief. "Taylor, it's done," I announce.

"Good, Sir," he says, from the driver's seat. "Where to?"

"One second," I say, just before I start to reply to the text.

 **Meet me at our regular place.**

I wait for her reply. And wait.  
And wait.

 **Okay**

"The Heathman," I finally instruct him.

"Sir," Taylor concurs as he starts the engine and heads out.

….

Even though she's bent over and facing me with her hands tugging at the tie around my neck back and forth at both ends, I still peep her delicious round ass teasing me from behind her.

Miss Steele is especially playful tonight as she embarks on her impromptu celebratory dance. It wasn't something that I demanded, but luckily, she was more than willing to perform for me tonight.

She tugs the tie all the way out of my collar and then turns on her high heels. I quickly give her delectable ass a slap before she goes too far, and she doesn't break her stride as she sashays to the start of _Oops (Oh My)_ , the ultimate disrobing anthem.

 _Oh, my._

When she's at her set distance, she turns back around and looks at me as she seductively winds the tie around both hands and then extends her arms just past shoulder length apart, making the fabric in between straight and tight. She then drops down and starts rocking her hips back and forth, not taking her eyes off of me as she dances to the sultry vocal stylings of Tweet.

 _Yeah, baby…that's it._

She's a goddess in a lacy black, short-shorts jumpsuit. My mouth waters as my eyes take in her skilled moves, the shape of her breasts, and the promised land in between her fit thighs. My favorite silver tie is stretched over her head as she sways, shimmies, and spins in strapped high heels with the precision of a prima ballerina and the seduction of an enchantress.

Miss Steele gives the tie a little more slack along the way as she transitions into a series of wide body winds and ponytails swings, allowing my accessory access to her entire body along the way.

 _Now it's_ _ **really**_ _my lucky tie._

Later in the song, it dawns on me that both the lyrics and Miss Steele's interpretation of them all point to self-love and self-lovin'… _if you know what I mean_. Watching her dance tonight puts me in a very voyeuristic state. It's both arousing and delicious to see how her hands and my tie caress her every curve, but I very much look forward to the part at the end of the dance when she allows me to join in.

Not before long, she's right where I want her – in my lap as the song fades away. I'm already kissing her neck as she pants in both exhaustion and desire.

"I'm so proud of you, baby," I whisper in her ear before sticking my tongue in it. She moans.

"Of what…my dance, or what I did to Jay Dark?" she pants.

"Yes," I respond. " _Both_."

I can feel her breathing accelerate from the way her chest rises and falls against mine. As my fingers dexterously locate and lower the zipper down her back, she wraps my tie back around my neck. I quickly move my hands to hers and intercept the article.

"I think we can put this to good use," I coo before taking her mouth.

Not long afterwards, we are naked in the master bed and I'm moving inside of her at a languorous pace while holding my tie steady, which is currently binding her two wrists just above her head.

"Mmm," I moan, kissing her neck as I go.

"Christian," she gasps while continuing to meet me thrust for thrust.

"Baby?"

"Faster. Faster… _please_ …"

"No, baby. We're going to do this exactly how I want it tonight…and I want it _slow_."

I want to savor her as she unravels slowly like a bomb in slow motion.  
I don't want to stop tonight. I'm beyond grateful that she's safe and that Jay Dark and his evildoing is finally behind us.

Now, Anastasia and I can fully concentrate on getting her prepared for what I have in store for her next spring.

* * *

ANA

As I make my bed first thing Saturday morning, which I normally don't do, I reflect back on both Tuesday night and last night at The Heathman, and how slow and calculated Christian was in bed with me. He wasn't the fast and furious man that I grew accustomed to.

I idly wondered if either of those occasions were constituted as lovemaking, but then I quickly remember the harsh reality of waking up alone both nights and realize that true love making is when the man stays afterwards.

The very thought causes my stomach to curl.

After my bed is made, I set out to the kitchen to start breakfast, when I see Kate already at the kitchen counter with her open computer – which she isn't paying any attention to at the moment. Instead, she's thumbing through her backpack looking extremely flustered.

"Hey," I say in greeting. "What's up?"

"I was almost done with this article when I misplaced my recorder," she sighs. "I effing looked everywhere."

"What article?" I ask, confused.

"The one on Christian Grey."

I gasp. "You lost your recorder? How far were you able to get before _that_ happened?"

"I'm almost finished. I stopped not too long before the part when I stepped away to use the restroom," she tells me.

"So, you got most of it," I say, relieved.

"Yeah…thankfully. I just know myself. I'll be absolutely bummed if end up leaving out any vital details that took place towards the end of that recording."

"I was there," I remind her. "What do you think that you missed?"

"Geez… _right_ ," Kate says, looking just short of slapping her own head. "So, what could I be missing?"

I round the kitchen counter and look over her shoulder "What do you have?" I ask. "Did you include the part about where he doesn't care about exposing his personal life in order to appear relatable to the public?"

"I've got that," she confirms.

"I think that was when you left to use the bathroom. When you came back, you asked him if he thought that he was doing enough to help resolve the global warming crisis."

"Right," Kate says with a look for clarity as she stares into space. "And he mentioned about being a part of the lobbying for legislative change."

I nod. "He's trying to push the CARB standard nationally."

A lightbulb goes off and she begins typing like a maniac. "The California Air Resources Board…"

"Right," I nod. "He was pivotal in getting Washington state to adapt to the standard."

"Grey has certainly made a lot of enemies in manufacturing," Kate chuckles as she looks up at me for a brief moment.

"I can see how," I remark. "CARB has very strict standards. Not all vehicles produced are CARB certified. So, there are essentially two separate mandates out there – the EPA standard, and the CARB standard."

"Oh my god, Ana," Kate sighs in deep relief, "thank you so much. I knew that I was leaving out something very important."

I smile at her. "I'm glad I could help."

"By the way…I don't care what you say, I think Grey had the hots for you," she winks.

I roll my eyes. "Kate."

"I'm just saying," she acquiesces. "He was definitely checking you out," she winks. "If anything, you served as my human sexuality detector…"

"Kate!" I snap in irritation.

"That man's hiding something. No one in the public eye is _that_ secretive about their relationships," she says with pursed lips.

"What about Meryl Streep and her husband?" I say in a fair argument. "Jay-Z and Beyoncé?"

" _So_ …who is Christian Grey's _Beyoncé_?" Kate says with a scandalous purr.

I roll my eyes. "Who knows," I toss out as I leave her side and start pulling the milk and eggs out of the refrigerator. I completely understand where Christian was coming from when he referred to her as a _royal bitch_ , although I still love her.

I hear the keys going as Kate practically sets them on fire with her brisk typing skills. "I think I have just about everything that I need. I'll run this by my editor on Monday."

I don't say anything. I'm terrified to read what she's written if her hard-hitting questions are any indication of the end result. I know how tough she can be, especially when it comes to journalism.

….

 _"_ _Who's Christian Grey's Beyoncé?"_

Kate's earlier words echo in my head as I witness my world being rocked by the guy whom I certainly wouldn't mind being Beyoncé for.

" _Ahhh_ ," I moan in bed as he slides all the way inside of me, and then all the way back out again without the use of his hands. Well… he's actually using them to hold down my wrists over my head against the mattress.

"You like watching me fuck you, baby?" he croons. " _Huh_? You like it when my dick slides back into you like this?" he says, just before he pushes back in.

 _Oh my god_...he's so fucking sexy that I am going to explode. He doesn't know what his constant dirty talk does to me on top of everything else that he inflicts on my body.

As I watch him work his skilled hips against mine, it's astonishing that he doesn't miss a beat when he pushes forward and back into me. Although, I'm certain that it has a lot to do with how wet I am, making the path much easier for him to hit.

Not even an hour ago, I told Christian to pretend that it was his birthday before I cued up _Birthday Sex_ by Jeremih on the docked iPod. And like the greedy boy that he is, he proceeds to take exactly what he wants – no questions asked. On the flip side, I was more than willing to give it up to him.

Now, I watch him as he moves in me…and then back out again.

In...and out.

In…and…

" _Ahhhh! Ahhhh!_ " I cry as my impending orgasm threatens to rip me apart.

"That's it, baby," he coaches. "Come for me."

….

As I lay in bed with my head just below his arm, I'm extremely tired and groggy, but afraid to drift into sleep. It's because I know that when my eyes open back up again, he'll no longer be here.

"What are you thinking about?" his deep voice vibrates through his sculpted naked chest as his hand continues to smooth down my hair.

Surprising even myself, I say, "One day, I'd like to open my eyes and realize that it was you who fucked me awake."

He gapes at me as his hand stills in my hair. "Anastasia… _really_?"

The moment I see him fighting back a smile, I immediately burst out laughing.

"You shock me," he says with a smirk.

"I guess I'm getting better at expressing what it is that I want. It's still going to take a bit more time for me to get all the way there," I say, feigning innocent.

"Well, that's one hell of a start, Miss Steele," he quips, still highly amused. "Goddamn, that's hot," he exhales. I giggle, and he quickly rolls over on top of me and claims my mouth.

" _Mmm_ …" he moans just before releasing from our passionate kiss. "So, do you have fantasies about me fucking you while you're asleep?"

I respond with a shy nod.

"That's a good one, you know," he smirks.

Immediately, a frisson of dread comes over me. I know right away that he's probably done this very thing to one of his past submissives. Seemingly ignoring my change of mood, he kisses my pouting lips anyhow.

"Believe me, I've been constantly imagining doing that to you," he breathes.

Soon, I am lost once again in his skilled mouth and tongue. My insides are crying out, begging for more of him.

 _Maybe when I fall asleep this time he will stay, and then I will awaken to him making love to me._

….

It's just another average, chilly and dreary December afternoon when I exit one building on campus and march towards another. It's Wednesday heading into another Friday, yet I can't shake the disappointment of waking up alone in the hotel bed early last Sunday morning.

 _This is getting very old._

Every time I bring up the fact that I hate it when he leaves without telling me, Christian proceeds to throw that shitty contract I signed right in my face. I'm just waiting for the moment when he finally becomes human and realizes that I have feelings, too.

Granted, the notes that he leaves me now are much longer and a little mushier than the earlier ones, but it certainly doesn't make up for the fact that he left me lonely. I hate that he can make me feel this way, yet the moment that I dance for him, I completely ignore those earlier feelings of cold rejection.

When I'm with him, I feel so alive. I feel free. He's literally like a drug coursing through my veins. But what I don't count on is the crash I feel once the drug is no longer in my system. It's a really shitty feeling.

 _Does this man actually care for me, or is it only about sex?_

I feel horrible even questioning him. Do I even have the right to do so? I'm still taking a paycheck from him even though I no longer need to. I want to tell him to stop, but then that would eliminate the reason for me to keep meeting him at The Heathman.

 _Dammit, what should I do?_

"Ana?"

A male's voice stops me mid-stride. When I turn around, I find José.

"Hey," I greet.

"Hey…how's it going?" he asks as he approaches closer.

"It's going. Ready for finals?"

"As ready as I'm gunna be," he answers. "You?"

"Ready to be done with this semester," I chuckle.

"Same. Are you spending Christmas with Ray this year?"

I nod. "Yep."

"Cool. Maybe me and my dad, and you and Ray can meet up one day for lunch?"

"Sure," I nod in agreement. "That'll be cool. I love watching those two hams reminisce about the old army days."

José chuckles. "Me too. They're a hoot. My dad was talking about going ice fishing at Patterson Lake and bringing Ray. I'm sure he'll want you to tag along, too."

I gape at him. "Patterson Lake? That's almost six hours away from Montesano."

"Yeah, right? And even further from here. Now if we lived in Seattle, it would be much closer," he chuckles.

"Not by much," I scoff. "Who wants to sit in the car for all that time just to go fishing?"

"It's well worth it, especially if you score on some sizable bass or trout," he says with a giddy grin.

"Still not worth it," I shoot down. "You can buy that stuff at the fish market instead of driving six hours only to sit outside in the cold on a slab of ice that you can fall through at any moment."

"You don't understand, Ana," he smirks. "It's a guy thing and you're a girl."

I frown at him. "Gee… _thanks_."

He immediately turns defensive. "Ana, I didn't mean anything by that. Honest."

"Hey," I hear another voice call out.

I subconsciously know who it is, but my active brain tells me not to jump to conclusions. _Life can't be this cruel, right?_ But the second I turn and see Adonis in a suit, my subconscious laughs at me. _See, I told you!_

It's fucking Wednesday, for crying out loud.  
What's Grey doing here?

"Hey," I say with a smile.

"Is everything alright?" he says before he turns to glare a hole into José's forehead.

Oh no.

 _José, whatever you do…just shut the fuck up._

"Yes…it's fine. Did you meet with the provost?" I say, almost too perkily.

He nods. "And the agriculture department." He looks over at José again with a critical eye.

Maybe he doesn't know who he is yet.

 _Oh god…please don't ask for his name.  
I wish José would just leave. _

"Are you set to go to another class?" he turns back to me. My heart is about the jump out of my chest the longer he waits to address my company.

"In a couple of hours," I murmur.

"Can you do lunch?" he asks.

"Sure," I say with an exaggerated nod. Just as I set to take Christian by the arm and lead him towards the building where most of the food places are, he turns to José.

"And you are?"

"Donny," I say really fast. "This is my schoolmate…Donny. Donny… _Suarez_." José looks at me like I just completely lost my fucking mind, but I pay him no mind. " _Donny_ , this is my um… _friend_."

 _Well, that was a complete disaster._

Christian extends his hand to José and he takes it.  
"Christian Grey."

All of a sudden, José's eyes open up big and wide as if it just hit him square in between them who's hand he's shaking.

"Okay…we've gotta go now," I say, gently tugging Christian's arm and leading him off. He looks at me like I just lost my ever-loving mind, but then brushes it off and follows my lead. Before we go too far, I turn around to catch a dumbfounded José staring back at me.

"Bye Donny! See you in class net week!" I call out with a wave.

Yeah, José is going to want answers _pretty_ soon.

* * *

CHRISTIAN

I sit across from Anastasia in the atrium inside of one of the campus buildings as we start on our chicken Caesar salads.

"You look very beautiful today, Miss Steele, which isn't anything new," I smile in a sincere complement. She shyly closes her eyes and doesn't respond. Eventually, she puts me back in her sights wearing an adorable smirk that makes me eager to kiss her from across this table.

"You know," she starts, "if we keep meeting and hanging out together on campus like this, Kate is going to catch us."

I shrug my shoulders mid-chew. "I don't care."

"I _do_ ," she says adamantly.

"I don't know why her opinion on who you date matters to you so much," I counter.

She narrows her eyes and tilts her head sideways. "So, we're dating now?"

I flash her an answering _'uh duh'_ face. "Your mother and her husband know me as your boyfriend. You don't think that won't eventually make its way over to Miss Kavanagh?"

She sighs.

"What about when the two of you move to Seattle? I hope that you and I will be seeing even more of each other. What then? Will you still be hiding me from Kavanagh?"

"God, are you serious right now?" she sighs even louder. "So, when do I tell her about the contract I signed, as well as the one you plan on making me sign next month?"

"You _don't_ ," I answer with a stern look. "That's none of her business."

"And neither is this," she says, gesturing to both her and I.

"Look, I'm going to show up on campus from time to time and when I do, I want to see you. Is that so wrong?"

Her eyes close as if pained. She appears to be in heavy contemplation.

"No," she murmurs.

"Good," I say, taking another bite of my salad. I quickly remember a thought and hold up my finger, asking Miss Steele to bear with me. I take a swig of my bottled water to quickly wash it down. "So…your _classmate_ , Donny."

"What about him?"

"I'm not getting very good vibes from him," I say, displeased.

"Really?" she says, surprised.

"Not at all. Before I interrupted your conversation, I saw it as clear as day. That guy wants to fuck you."

She gapes at me. "No way. He's just a cool guy from my lit class."

"I saw it in his eyes," I argue.

When she blinks, her frustration is more than evident. "Even if it were true, why does it even matter? I'm _not_ going to bed with him."

I instantly feel the blood rush to my head and my teeth begin to clinch at the very notion of that young douchebag bedding my girl.

"Because, if he ever were to try anything with you, I'd have to fuck him up."

Anastasia starts to turn white and immediately focuses her attention back on her salad.

"So, when are fall finals?" I ask. Her eyes slowly come back my way. She appears to be flabbergasted. "What?" I ask. She sighs and quickly shakes off her expression.

"The week after next," she says. "So, what did you do with the provost and those guys today?"

"I flew in for a last-minute meeting with the provost and the senior department heads of the college of agricultural, human, and natural resource sciences in order to discuss getting phase one of the new construction project underway."

I can tell that her face softens when she realizes that I do in fact have official business to tend to here on campus.

"How does it feel sitting here eating in an atrium along with a bunch of young college kids? Does it bring you back to your Harvard days?" she teases.

I shrug my shoulders. "I guess," I say reflectively. "However, I mostly stayed to myself."

"Really?" she says, surprised.

"Why does that surprise you, Miss Steele? You know that I'm generally a loner."

"I mean… _yeah_?" she responds as if she's unable to better articulate her exact thoughts at the moment.

"These days, I go to work, I come home… _that's it_. Oh, and seeing you on weekends is hands down my biggest highlight by far," I smile.

She tries to hide her shy smile by lowering her head towards her plate.

"Unfortunately, I'm not a social butterfly like you."

As she chews, her and my eyes slowly meet again.

"You are hilarious…when you want to be," she says, throwing me a bone. "Maybe you need to just put yourself out there a bit more. You know…show yourself as being friendly."

" _Nah_. I'll pass," I say with a scrunched mouth and a head shake.

"Why not?" she responds with disappointed.

"Don't know if you caught on to my inability to trust people."

She shrugs her shoulders. "I mean… _maybe_? Don't you have like a best friend that you talk to? Someone who knows everything about you?"

I scoff. "That would be my shrink, so _no_ …he's not my best friend because I _pay_ him."

Before she can seemingly make a witty remark, she immediately stops and her face falls.

 _Oh shit._

"I didn't mean it that way," I say, backtracking.

"No…it's fine, _really_ ," she says with an artificial smile, but it doesn't fool me.

I reach over and pull her hand from across the table. Her eyes round out, taken aback by the sudden move.

"Look, it's not the same with us," I speak softly. "It's different. I'm helping you with something very important, and you are sharing your beautiful dancing with me. I thoroughly enjoy being with you, Anastasia. My shrink, not so much."

She fights back a giggle and I can't help but smile at her. I bring her hand to my mouth and kiss it. Immediately, she snatches it away.

"Christian," she whispers with urgency.

"Anastasia, you have to stop being so nervous whenever we're out in public together. It was bound to happen, so get used to it. Maybe you need to tell your friend Miss Kavanagh about us sooner rather than later."

Her eyes are critical. "And what do you suppose that I tell her?"

"That I'm your boyfriend," I say plain and simply.

"Well, are you?" she strikes right away.

"Yes," I respond just as quickly.

And there she is, shielding her face from me once more, trying to take everything in.

"So…what now?" she says quietly. "Can I stop taking money from you? You know, you paid off my entire school year a while ago. Don't know if you knew that."

"I'm fully aware of that, Miss Steele," I reveal without as much as a flinch.

"Why do you keep paying me, then?"

"Because, I don't want you to stop dancing for me," I answer as honestly as a man can.

"I wouldn't," she breathes. "I don't want to stop dancing for you."

The biggest, goofiest smile begins to take over my face.

"Good."

….

It's a bit chilly and damp out when Miss Steele and I walk side by side after lunch, but the sky still gives the impression that the sun is still fighting to come out. However, I've lived in the pacific northwest long enough to know that the sun's in a losing battle the closer it gets to winter.

"Let me walk you over to your next building before I leave," I propose.

"Sure," she smiles.

I want to take her by the hand, but I know that she's still on high alert over her roommate. I can't understand for the life of my why she insists on walking on eggshells with Katherine Kavanagh. It's beyond incomprehensible.

"We just need to go straight there and then make a left at the next corner," she instructs.

The moment I nod, I feel a wave of energy cross my path, causing me to trip. Miss Steele is equally as taken by surprise when it happens. When I look down, I see a snot-nosed little boy chasing a loose ball.

 _What the fuck?  
Why in the hell do they let little kids roam around the university like this? _

It's nearly enough to get me second guessing about donating all of that money to any institution that lets rug rats run wild and free like squirrels. It's deplorable.

To my surprise, Ana hurries and captures the ball before it goes too far. She then returns to the little boy and kneels down to his level.

"There, there," she beams. "Were you looking for this?" she says, handing him the ball.

Suddenly, a woman running towards us with a backpack swoops in. "My goodness, I'm _soooo_ sorry," she apologizes profusely.

"It's fine," Miss Steele says in completely understanding as she stands back up.

No…it's _not_ fine. That little jerk tripped me.

"He was no trouble at all," Anastasia adds while ruffling up the boy's hair.

 _God, she's touching him. He could have lice or something._

"Thank you," the woman says to Miss Steele as if she just rescued her kid from a burning building. The woman then takes him by the hand and leads him away, quietly chastising him along the way.

Still, I'm certain it's not enough. That kid is going to do something stupid again and his silly mother will be apologizing to some other stranger. The very thought puts me in an even shittier mood.

"What's your deal?" Miss Steele says, pulling me out of my internal tirade.

"Why in the hell did she bring her kid to school in the first place?"

She gapes at me as if I just lost my mind.

"They have a Children's Center here, Christian. Maybe she was done with class for the day and went to pick up her son."

"A Children's Center?" I scoff.

" _Um_ …yes," she says as if it's a total no-brainer. "Don't you have a child care facility at your headquarters?"

"Yes, but there aren't rug rats running around Grey House _tripping_ people."

" _Rug rats_?" she says, taken aback. "What's your problem? Do you hate kids or something?"

I shrug my shoulders. "Some are cat people, some are dog people, some are…"

"Goodness, are you _really_ lumping children in with pets?" she interrupts, borderline appalled.

"Contrary to popular belief, Miss Steele, children aren't for everyone."

"I _know_ that," she responds, slightly irritated.

We completely drop the subject and begin to walk together in total silence. I can tell that she's in a bad mood, but I hope that it doesn't have anything to do with me dissing ankle biters. I can't help it; it's just the way that I am.

 _If I had the time, I'd probably see to getting a vasectomy._

"This is me," she finally speaks. I'm startled when I realize that we're right at the building of Anastasia's next class.

"Hey...I'll call you tonight, okay?" I tell her. When she smiles and nods, I desperately want to steal a kiss from her. However, I decide against it because I know that it would put her deeper in a sour mood.

* * *

ANA

I've been working away on my laptop at the library all morning since my one and only class let out. Fortunately, I am able to get the most work done on Fridays due to such a wide-open schedule.

However, I can't help but be distracted every now and again with many running thoughts. Since Wednesday, I've been thinking back to how weird Christian reacted to the idea of children. It _really_ put me off, making me not as excited as usual about seeing him tonight. It's not the first time by a long shot that he's had me second-guessing everything.

Yet, I know my traitorous body will flip on me the moment that I am in his presence. He has this way of pulling me in just like a magnet. _No_ …more like a moth to a flame.

 _Or Icarus._

I'm afraid of falling in too deep with him. Not only do I have to contend with the unconventional way that he does _'relationships'_ , but now I have to deal with the fact that if he's truly the one that I eventually want to spend the rest of my life with, there's a strong possibility that I may have to sacrifice having children.

 _Could I do that?_

I quickly push the feeling aside and finish my thought on my essay, clicking away on the keys of my MacBook.

 _I'm twenty-one.  
I don't have to think about children anytime soon. _

As I'm chugging along, someone suddenly glides over to my side and abruptly shuts my laptop. I look up and see Belinda wearing _an 'oh yeah, I just did that'_ expression on her face. I gape at her.

"What the hell? I was just working on that," I sigh loudly.

She smacks her lips. "Your work is still safe, girlie. Settle down."

Suddenly, Sasha surfaces. "Let's go. We're taking you to happy hour."

"Gosh guys..." I sigh, "…I really wish I could go, but I _really_ need to finish this paper before I go to work tonight."

"Well, what time do you gotta be there?" Belinda asks.

"Seven."

"Good," Sasha beams. "That'll give you plenty of time to have a drink or three with us at the bar just outside of campus."

"Sasha..." I whine, "…I _can't_ …"

Against my protests, Belinda begins packing up my things and readying my backpack, while Sasha takes me by the hands and lead me up on my feet. "You'll thank us afterwards," she vows. "Trust me."

 _Famous last words._

….

The three of us ladies are feeling no pain as the bartender is killing it with the lime martinis – which by the way are on special until seven. Sasha, Belinda, and I are practically downing them like water. I am now on my third. I'm sure Sasha is on her fourth or fifth.

" _I_ …I can't thank _Crispin_ …Christian Grey enough for having his people helping out a sista and her mother," Sasha slurs.

"You're no _sista_ ," Belinda says, pointing a lazy finger at Sasha.

"You're right. _You_ are," Sasha says, pointing a crooked finger right back at her.

" _Half_ sista," quips Belinda.

I laugh at the two of them and their drunken banter.

Sasha turns to me. "My mom's already in the process of changing things at Zion for the better."

I beam large. "Becky informed me of that. I'm so happy to hear that things will be changing for the girls for the better."

"What are you two talking about?" Belinda frowns. "What's _Zion_?"

I sigh, thinking to myself – _Where do I even begin_ , while Sasha places a gentle hand on Belinda's arm. "We'll catch you up later," Sasha whispers.

Sasha then turns to address me. "Did Becky mention how my mother would like to incorporate male dancers into the rotation twice a week, giving all of the girls those days off?"

 _Whoa._ I gape at her, but then a smile takes over. "No, Becky didn't tell me that."

" _Yes_ girl. I am so excited," Sasha beams.

"Is Zion still going to be an exclusive club?"

"Of course," Sasha clarifies. "But we figured that the members' wives might want a day or two to unwind as well. It will also make them feel comfortable with their husbands being there given that they are also well familiar with the place that their other halves frequently patronize."

"Wow, I'm very surprised that your mom is letting Zion remain as is, with the exception of having ladies nights."

"It's absolutely different because it will now have a true HR department along with a tip line in place to prevent what was happening while my dad was in charge from ever happening again."

 _Thank god._

"I'm absolutely relieved to hear the news."

"There will also be psychologists on staff for the girls who endured any emotional trauma during my evil father's reign."

Sasha's words cause a chill to go up my spine. I sincerely pray that with all of the guilty evidence stacked up against him, Jay Dark will take the guilty plea deal and do some hard time in the pen sooner rather than later.

"Girls, girls…I seriously have no clue what you two are yapping about," slurs Belinda. "Let's talk about something more fun. This is _happy_ hour, not _sad_ hour."

Both Sasha and I laugh.

"Speaking of happy hour…" Sasha starts, "…Christian Grey, anyone?"

My heart stops.

"That is one beautiful man," Sasha appraises while waiving an invisible wand in outer space.

"I'd say," Belinda cosigns, now fanning herself with a cardboard coaster. "I heard that he was on campus the other day meeting with the provost."

"The provost wasn't the only one that he met with," Sasha says, now giving me a scandalous gaze.

 _Fuck._

"The college of agriculture?" I say, trying my damnedest to throw her off of my trail. However, when she doesn't change her grin, I know for a fact that I'm toast.

"He took a certain someone out to lunch," Sasha finally reveals, and I see her hand go over my head and begin to point down at me. I sigh.

I don't want to fucking talk about Christian Grey. I have to deal with him in less than two hours. I'm beyond annoyed, but I'm certain that my friends will refuse to let this go until I give them some information. Hell, I knew that roaming around campus with him would put me at risk. _What if Kate saw us?_ I shudder at the thought.

"Don't worry, luv bug," Sasha says, trying to ease my anxiety. "My source and I won't say a thing. So, how's it coming along? Is it… _serious_?"

"Oh my god," gapes Belinda, "are you _seeing_ him?"

I roll my eyes. "Girls…I _can't_ discuss this."

"Holy shit," Belinda gasps, "you are totally dating a smoking hot billionaire."

"Belinda… _stop_ ," I say, surpassing irritated.

"Well, _are_ you or _aren't_ you," Sasha tag teams.

"I can't talk about it," I say again slowly for the hearing impaired.

"Lord Jesus," Belinda says, looking as if she just discovered a haunting secret. "Did he make you sign something? Like a non-disclosure agreement?"

Damn. I should've figured that _Miss Pre-Law_ would figure it out.

Instead of replying, I look down despondently at my almost-empty martini glass.

"My goodness…he _did_ ," Belinda correctly guesses with a quiet gasp.

"I mean, that's pretty standard," Sasha interjects as if it's no big deal. "Christian Grey is a very well-sought out individual with a billion-dollar enterprise. He has to protect his brand."

I cringe at the very idea of Christian being a brand, but it's unfortunately a cruel fact.

"Okay," Belinda starts. "So, I understand that you can't _talk_ about it…but could you _please_ answer this one question for me. I've been dying to know this for _years_. All you have to do is nod if the answer is ' _yes'_. Is he a god in the sack?"

I am mortified.

"Oh my god, Belinda!" Sasha squeals in laughter.

"Well?" Belinda zooms in on me. "Yes? No?"

 _Why did I even agree to come here_ – I commiserate. I purse my lips and close my eyes as if answering the question is _way_ beneath me. I don't know what I do to provoke it, but Belinda and Sasha suddenly sputter into laughter. _They're drunk. Let them be._

As I pick up the last bit of my drink, and just before I put it to my lips, I nod twice. Sasha and Belinda totally lose it – hooting, hollering, and high-fiving each other, not caring that the entire bar is now staring at our table.

Before I leave the bar and head over to The Heathman, I make the girls promise not to mention Christian and me to _anyone_ …not even Kate. They wholeheartedly agree with the understanding that Kate can be more than unreasonable at times, especially when it comes to me.

* * *

CHRISTIAN

"So... you went to the bar," I say in a not-so-happy greeting the moment Anastasia arrives. She gapes at me.

" _Well_ , hello to you too, Mr. Grey. If you must know, I was simply having drinks with my friends. And oh…by the way, Jay Dark's been dealt with, so you no longer have to track my every move."

 _I don't necessarily think that it's bad to still keep tabs on what she's doing_ – I think to myself.  
It's good that Anastasia has someone watching over her so that she doesn't do anything stupid like get a job at another club like Zion. Although if it weren't for Zion, we might've never met.

The moment I study her face again, an alarm immediately goes off.

"First of all, you are _never_ to drive drunk ever again," I say with a harsh frown, getting that out of the way. "And secondly, are you sober enough to dance somewhat adroitly?"

If looks could kill, I'd truly be dead right now. "I'd be happy to go home right now if you take issue with me enjoying a few drinks with friends on a Friday afternoon."

"How many drinks constitutes as _a few_?"

She sighs, rolling her eyes. " _God_ , are you really doing this right now?"

"How many drinks, Anastasia?" I stand firm.

"Three," she answers too quickly.

 _For some reason, I don't believe her._

"Look…why don't you grab yourself a bottle of water from the minifridge before you get into costume."

She flashes me an appalled look. "I had water before coming here. I'm perfectly fine."

"Your eyes look a little glassy, so I'd say that you're still a bit tipsy. Now, hydrate yourself before dancing."

"What? You're not force feeding me today?" she snips. I frown at her.

"What in the hell is your problem?"

Anastasia takes in a deep but staggered breath. "The second I came in here, you immediately give me shit. How about you stop tracking me around and you won't make any incomplete assumptions about me… _okay_?" she sasses.

 _This girl certainly knows how to push my buttons._

I turn around in a huff before turning back to her. "You better be lucky that you're not my sub, Miss Steele. With that behavior, I'd place you across my knee and spank you right this second for being so mouthy."

"Well…it's a good thing that I'm _not_ your sub," she strikes back.

My blood pressure is rising, but I immediately try to calm myself down in order smooth things over with her. I never want her using words like that, and I absolutely don't need her to completely throw away the idea of eventually becoming my submissive.

Up to this point, she's been doing a wonderful job in allowing me to restrain her and have my way with her. It may be BDSM-lite right now, but I believe that we are definitely headed in the right direction. I have about another week of convincing her to come back to Vancouver from Montesano one week earlier than she planned in order to spend the week of New Year's with me in my home in Seattle.

I've already been comprising a strategy on how to ease her into my playroom. I'd like to continue with this progression plan tonight, tomorrow, and the following weekend – which will be the last time we see each other before she takes off to spend Christmas with her stepfather.

"Are you hungry?" I ask.

"No," she snaps. "I ate before coming here." And as if she just realizes that she's being a little too sharp with me, she eases the blow with a now sweet, "Thank You."

"No problem, Miss Steele," I respond, just as sweetly.

She hesitates for a second before gathering herself.  
"Well, I guess I'll go get dressed, then," she says before starting off towards the bedroom.

"You do that," I smirk.

Anastasia's back is now towards me, but I sense that she's currently rolling her eyes at me.

"I saw that," I call out from behind her.

"God," she sighs, probably frustrated that I know even more about her than she thought.

I smile at the premise.

….

She doesn't miss a beat as she performs a sultry dance in an equally sultry, fitted spaghetti-strapped red dress to En Vogue's _Giving Him Something He Can Feel_. And as she grooves her beautiful body right before me, I can't wait to feel _her_.

I'd soon get my wish in the bedroom as she mounts on top of me with her arms tied with rope behind her back. I grip her hips, guiding her way to paradise.

"Yeah… _yeah_ …" I exhale, "…grind on this cock, baby."

 _Fuck, she feels exquisite._

She pants as she works hard to give it to me like she knows she should.

"You fit me like a tight glove," I groan. "You're so moist…and…" I lose my train of thought as my eyes begin to roll to the back of my head.

 _Fuck Grey…don't you dare come right now._

"You talk too much when we fuck. You need to shut your dirty mouth."

My eyes spring open and I look up at a girl who appears to be thoroughly pleased with herself. It's not until my eyes burn into her with fire, fury and purpose that she realizes that she just used her outside voice. Unfortunately, she can't utilize her hands to cover up her smart mouth. It's obvious that what's left of the alcohol in her bloodstream is making her so brazen.

"Is that so, Miss Steele?"

" _I_ … _I_ …" she stutters. "I didn't mean…"

" _Too_ late," I hiss.

With the speed and the strength of a jaguar, I spring up and throw her down on her back, knocking the wind right out of her. Before she's able to take in a single breath, I quickly mount her and spin her around, making her land on her face. I prop up her hips, grab onto the rope linking her wrists, and proceed to fuck her senseless while talking even more shit than I normally would.

"You say that I talk too much when I fuck you… _huh_?"

" _Aahhh_ …I didn't _mean_ …"

"Yeah? Well, you're going to have to take this cock exactly how I give it to you from now on. Is that clear?"

She screams something unintelligible.

"What's that? I can't hear you, Miss Smart Mouth."

" _Ahhh…oh my…_ "

"You're talking too much, Anastasia," I taunt before taking her even faster to the point of leaving her breathless.

"That's right," I growl through gritted teeth.

It doesn't take much time at all for her to explode all around me, yet I continue to ride the wave with no mercy.

" _Again_ ," I grunt in command, taking what's mine.

 _How'd you like them apples, Miss Steele?_

* * *

ANA

I groan in my own bed, cursing the dull sun shining through my bedroom blinds as I answer the phone. When I press the green button, I even curse myself for failing to screen the call before answering it.

"Hello?" I say groggily.  
 _Jesus – my bones ache._

Damn you, Christian Grey.

"Ana?"

Fuck…it's José.

"Hey…"

"Did I wake you?"

"Yeah…you kinda did…"

"I wanted to tell you how much I regret that we didn't finish our conversation last Wednesday."

"Oh yeah. I'm sorry about that," I mumble. "I had to leave."

"When I shook his hand, I all of a sudden realize who your friend Christian Grey was. I recalled seeing the blurb about the school of agriculture's new facility on the home screen of the campus intranet. It was a photo of him and the provost shaking hands. Hey…how do you know him anyway? He was looking at me like he wanted to fight or something," he laughs nervously. "And why did you lie about my name?"

Damn José, that's a shit ton of questions and I don't want to answer any one of them. However, due to the circumstances, I must let him know what the deal is so that he doesn't go around campus asking questions, _especially_ to Kate.

"José, can you keep a secret?"

He gasps. "Ana, of course. You know that I can. What's going on?"

" _I_ …I'm kind of _with_ Mr. Grey," I say reluctantly.

"Oh my god…are you serious?" he gasps. "He's a billionaire, Ana. And _old_."

I sigh, "He is _not_ old."

"Well, older than you. I mean… _how_? _When_?"

"We met at restaurant."

Well, it's kind of the truth.  
No…it _is_ the truth.

I continue, "But what I really wanted to tell you is that one day during a heart to heart, the subject of my birthday party came up."

"Oh shit," he says under his breath.

"Yeah" I say, echoing his sentiment. "He knew that something bad had happened that night, so he forced me to tell him all about it."

"You told him _everything_?"

"José, of _course_ I told him. I'm _seeing_ him."

He sighs. "Dang Ana, is it already that serious with him? I mean, how long have you two been dating? Does Kate know?"

"No!" I blurt out quick and in a hurry. "And she _can't_ find out."

"All right, all right," he acquiesces.

"At first, I didn't reveal your name, but when he'd mistaken a former colleague at Clayton's as you, I had to tell him that he _wasn't_ you while Christian's hands were around his throat."

"Shit."

"And I let your name slip."

"Oh, I see. So that's why I'm now _Donny_ ," he chuckles.

"Yeah," I respond without a trace of humor.

"So, what would he have done if he knew that it was me?"

I sigh. "You don't want to know."

"Damn. Is he _that_ dangerous? Are you certain that you want to be with someone like that?"

"He's extremely protective of me," I say in his defense. "If anyone has hurt me, past or present, he wants to fix it. One way or another," I say the last haunting part under my breath.

"I can't believe that you actually told him about that night. It's one of my greatest regrets, but I thought that you and I were working past that?"

I inhale and exhale to calm my nerves before responding. "I know…but when you're in a relationship, you kind of have to tell your partner everything."

"Man," he sighs reflectively, "Ana has an older boyfriend. I never would've pegged you for the type to like older men." His seemingly bitter and dejected tone does not go ignored.

"You don't really know me like you think you do. I've always had an old soul. This situation I'm in kind of makes sense to me." Surprisingly, José falls silent at my words.

Soon, I'm thinking to myself about how much all the men who've been in my life as of late are such a pain in my ass.

* * *

 ** _A/N: So faithful readers, someone is starting to show their ass right about now. Was Elena right about him all along? Can a tiger truly change his stripes? We shall see. ;)_**

 ** _In the next chapter tentatively titled "Stimulation", Christian moves full speed ahead in grooming Ana for what he hopes will be a long-term ideal situation. But first, he must get her to Seattle the week after Christmas. Will she agree to skip out on her dad midway during her break? If you are in my Facebook group, you already saw the teaser for chapter 16. It's juicy!_**

 ** _Shout out to Karima G. and Judith R., members of my Storie Tells All Facebook group who suggested Oops (Oh My) by Tweet, and Birthday Sex by Jeremih as dance songs. If you have any suggestions for future songs, dances, and wardrobe, be sure to join the group and leave them underneath Sunday's (6/24/18) post, which also gives the criteria on how you can do that._**

 ** _Also, thanks to everyone who voted APD into 3_** ** _rd_** ** _place for Best Villain in June!_**

 ** _Lastly but certainly not least, I wanted to give a shout out to Undercover Squint, thanking her from the bottom of my heart for introducing her readers to this story. I meant to thank her earlier, but I am getting old and forgetful these days, haha!_**

 ** _Until next week. – ST2_**


	16. Chapter 16 - Stimulation

**Chapter 16** **–** **Stimulation**

ANA

For my Saturday dance, I decide to channel burlesque goddess, Dita Von Teese. I chose a black lace, turquoise accented bustier with garter straps and matching leg and hand stockings. I also did up my hair in big, 1950's inspired pin-up girl curls – which I know was a total waste of time since it's a sure bet that Mr. Grey will get his dirty paws into it and mess it all up.

As I seductively sashay past him in time to the erotic, primal rhythm of _Cherish the Day_ , Christian manages to catch a slow and steady feel of me, starting at the back of my calf and up to my lower thigh before I exhaust his reach. I am lost in the music, but fully aware of his presence as Sade's sensual crooning just has this way of putting me in the mood.

My eyes are closed, and my head is raised as my hips and hands channel the slow waves of the Caribbean Sea, which is what this song certainly puts me in the mind of. Now, I've never been to the Caribbean Sea…but it's how I'd imagine it to be.

Eventually, I find myself falling into Christian's lap as the song ends, reaching out to touch his smooth but prickly face with both stockinged hands. I pull him and kiss him first for a change, which I know takes him aback. It takes no time for our kiss to grow into something greater; deeper.

Suddenly, he pulls away, ceasing my aggressions.

"Turn around in my lap," he commands in an authoritative voice. My breath catches in my throat, but I do exactly what he says.

I soon begin to feel his hands and fingers unraveling my curls and then bundling my hair all together. My eyes grow wide in shock. _Hell – all that work for nothing._ However, my shock is exacerbated when he begins to braid my hair.

 _Oh my god.  
What is he doing? _

My heart's racing because I realize that not only am I dumbfounded, but I am completely turned on. _Man, he's doing my hair…and it's sexy as fuck! Not only can this man dance, but he knows how to braid hair._

All of a sudden, I feel a snap at the end of the braid, which I reach for after he's done.

 _Holy shit, he had a hair elastic in his possession?_

He taps the small of my back, urging me to stand. When I rise, so does he. He then offers me his hand.

"Come," he says.

I reach for him and he takes me with him.

* * *

CHRISTIAN

Anastasia is naked and tied to the master bed at The Heathman as I lord over her, hungrily appraising her. I'm wearing nothing but a pair of jeans as I stroll slowly around the bed, licking my chops. As her arms and legs are bound to the straps, the deep rise and fall of her breasts is accentuated even more.

 _Holy fuck, is she beautiful._

Her mouth is slightly agape, and I immediately want to stick my tongue inside of it and taste her very breath.

 _What shall we do today, Miss Steele?_

 _Riding crop?_

 _Spanking rod?_

 _Short bull whip?_

I decide on something that I know she'll enjoy.

"I'll be back," I say, and I immediately sense her disappointment. "I won't be long. I promise," I smirk. I seek the second smallest suitcase in the closet just outside of the master bedroom, and quickly locate what I am looking for. In just a short time, I return to the bedroom brandishing a flogger. She is startled.

"This won't hurt," I assure her. "It only sends your blood to the surface, thereby enhancing your pleasure senses."

A nervous laugh sparks out of her. "I seriously doubt that."

When I don't laugh back, her smile dissipates, and her fear returns. The thought of her being frightened pricks me, so I lighten up just a tinge.

"Let me demonstrate," I utter. "If it's too much for you to handle, all you have to do is say _'stop'_ and I will do so immediately."

I stand at attention waiting for her to give me the okay. Soon, she nods her head.

I start slowly by smoothing the falls of the flogger across her body. She starts to squirm wildly.

"Try and hold still, Anastasia. It's better if you take in the feeling. Don't fight it," I urge. I can tell when I resume, she's trying her best to not move. But after a while, she's panting uncontrollably, yanking against her restraints.

"I'm going to have to blindfold you," I tell her.

"What?" she gasps.

"It'll be better for you if you aren't thinking so much. You just need to _feel_. Okay?"

Without waiting for her response, I walk over to the wardrobe and pull out a satin black airline mask from the second drawer. When I return to the bed, I place the flogger under my arm and gesture for Miss Steele to allow me to put the mask on her. After some reluctance, she lifts up her head and I carefully guide the elastic down her head until the mask covers her eyes.

I place the flogger back in my hand and I hesitate, making her wild in anticipation before I resume gliding the tails up her calf to her knee and past her thighs. When it crosses her sex, she flinches. A slight smile quivers across my mouth, but I hold it off.

 _This is serious business, Grey._

Before going any further, I snap back my wrist and strike the flogger across her belly. She immediately gasps like a fish out of water.

"Did that hurt?" I ask her.

The air is rushing out of her mouth so hard that she's unable to respond.

"Anastasia…are you okay?" I say with my brows furrowed. Still, she says nothing. Her mind is trying hard to register what just happened to her. She looks stunned.

 _Did I push her too far?_

"We can stop if you…"

"No," she says suddenly. "Try it again."

I gape at her.  
 _Is she truly serious?_

"Are you sure?" I ask, overly cautious.

She nods.

"I need to hear your words," I tell her. "I need to know without a doubt that this is what you want me to do."

"Yes," she says out loud.

 _Holy fuckballs._

My breathing suddenly picks up and I flick my wrist again, striking her on the thigh this time. She gasps, pulling hard against the restraints.

 _Fuck me._ I'm slowly unraveling. I'm afraid that she's going to tell me to stop when I'm just about to lose all sense of control. Miss Steele is right where I've always wanted her, tied up and at my total mercy. But if she doesn't want to do this, I can't continue. I'll have to stop.

 _I don't want to stop, but I'll have to._

"Again?" I whisper.

"Yes," she squeaks.

 _Goddamn it._

"Are you sure?" I wheeze, nearly about to jump out of my skin and go absolutely wild on this girl.

 _Hell. I've missed this._

"Yes…I'm sure," she utters.

I let loose, flicking the falls of the flogger over her stomach, her arms, her breasts, her sex… Every visible part of her delectable body begins turning a beautiful shade of pink after my sensual aggressions. When she rhythmically moves her body against the restraints as if she has a melody of her own playing inside of her head, I immediately regret that I didn't put a song on for her to dance to.

Still, my cock has grown to the point of being extremely uncomfortable in my jeans. Anastasia is experiencing sensory overload, and I am basking in her glory. The wetness seeping out from between her folds makes her arousal evident. At the sight, I drop my flogger to the floor and climb into bed and go in between her thighs, hungry to taste her.

She's crying out as I grip her hips with both hands, going to town with my mouth, devouring her, the tastiest buffet – because she simply is. I prop her hips up further and stick a finger inside of her before my tongue glides past her perineum and to her _other_ opening.

"Ah!" she cries out.

I glide in a second finger and I stroke her as she moves, while my tongue does its job.

"Christian! _Please_?"

I want to say – _Please what?_ – but, my mouth is rather occupied at the moment. Instead, I let her desperate pleas wash over me as I birth her first orgasm of the night. And as she's still crying out, I hop on my knees and quickly free my cock from my jeans, pushing the article down to my thighs. After propping up her thighs, I slide into her.

" _Ahhhh…_ "

It takes a moment for me to realize that both she and I moaned at the very same time. Soon, I'm quickly picking up the pace, taking her; claiming her as my own.

"Oh baby…" I squeeze out in a whisper, "…you feel so fucking sweet."

As she moans louder, I free up one of my hands to tug the mask down from her face, bringing it around her neck.

 _I want to see her when she comes all around me._

"What were you dancing to while I was flogging you?" I grunt, struggling to speak as I move faster. "John Mayer? Keane?" She cries out again. "Or was it Bach? Mozart?"

" _Ohhh!_ "

"It was like you were dancing a forbidden dance, Anastasia. And I enjoyed every single minute of it."

" _Oh my God!_ " she cries out, and I can feel her insides caving in.

"I'm going to teach you one of these days how to hold back, baby. You lose it way too easily," I taunt – but I don't relent.

"Christian!" She continues to scream as she detonates all around me. I keep on pushing and pushing inside of her – trying to decide if I want to let go too or keep going.

"Baby, we're just getting started," I pant in between strokes as her eyes start to roll to the back of her head. She's coming over and over again, but I don't let up. I push her until she falls out of it and starts to roll into a new orgasm altogether. And when she's there, I'm ready right there with her.

" _I'm gunna come now_ …" I announce, practically wheezing.

" _Please_! Come on my breasts!"

 _Wait…what did she just say?_

" _Please_! Do it! _Ahhh_ …"

 _Just wait one damn second…_

Before my mind can remotely register what she just did or didn't _really_ say, I explode inside of her, as she flares all around me for the second time in a row.

 _Fuck, did she just say that she wanted me to blast off on her tits?_

 _What the hell, Miss Steele?!_

Exhausted, I collapse on top of her and my lips graze the side of her neck. After a couple of minutes, I can't help but search deep inside of me for some semblance of clarity. I raise up and look down at her. Her eyes are clamped shut as she's still reeling from her intense orgasm.

"Anastasia?" I say softly. She doesn't look at me right away. It takes her a few beats, but her head slowly turns and her eyes eventually open. "Did you just ask me to come on your breasts?"

She immediately blushes and tries to fight off an embarrassed smile.

"Ana?" I say, and her eyes flicker in surprise.

 _Oh, yes…she's never heard me call her by her preferred name before.  
It's a first. _

Suddenly, she clears her throat and she squares her shoulders as best she can while still being tied up.

"In the heat of the moment, I may say things from time to time. It's best to just do what I ask when I ask it, because you might not ever have another opportunity to do it again," she smirks.

My eyes grow wide and round. "So, let me get this straight – _'in the heat of the moment'_ , you wanted me to ejaculate onto your breasts?"

She gapes at me. "Why'd you have to say it like that?"

"Because…that's exactly what you asked me to do _'in the heat of the moment'_ ," I counter, highly irritated.

"But why do you have to make it all weird?" she frowns.

"You've never asked me to do that before…and I've never done that to you before," I frown back at her.

Where in the hell did that even come from?  
Why did she ask me to do that?

 _Has she been watching a lot of porn lately, or has she begun fucking someone else who likes to come on her tits – and now she likes it, too?_

I quickly shake away the grating thought before it makes me furious.

"But you have done that, _right_?" she says, looking at me sideways.

" _Yeaaah_ …" I say, all long and drawn out, "…but _you_ haven't."

 _Right?_

I pray that she agrees and doesn't tell me otherwise, or else I _will_ lose my shit.

"Unbelievable," she huffs in frustration. "Neither have I been tied up and slapped around with a cat 'o nine tails, but you didn't hesitate to do _that_ to me."

"First of all, it's my suede flogger, _not_ my cat… _also_ a type of flogger, but trust me, you'd _know_ the difference," I say with heat radiating from my eyes, and she blinks in mild intimidation. "Secondly, we worked up to the flogger, Anastasia," I hiss as I roll off to the side of her and pull up my jeans. " _You_ blurted that out seemingly out of nowhere." Irritated, I slide downward on the bed and begin to free her ankles from the restraints.

"You have an issue with me asking you to come on my breasts?" she says, beyond appalled. "Is it like the _touching_ thing? Does the sight of your own _spunk_ on the surface of my skin make you woozy?" she goads. "If so, I have zero clue as to why. You've seen it trickle down my leg many times before after emptying yourself inside of me several times in a row."

I don't know why her words and snarky tone make me mad, but they _really_ set me off.

"I told you…that's nothing new to me," I snap back as I rise forward and scooch up until I reach her wrists. I unfasten the first one.

"So why didn't you do it? Do you only like to… _unload_ in my cave?"

I'm midway from loosening her final restraint when I keel over and burst out laughing. I can feel her body jerking before I can hear her fighting to hold back her giggling. I arch up, hovering over her as I pause in the middle of removing the final restraint.

"Well, if I'm being completely honest, I thoroughly enjoy dropping the kids off in that tight little cabin by the lake. But if you'd rather me drop them off over in the hills, or perhaps in the mountains where they can eventually ski down past the cabin, I'm fine with that, too."

At this point, she's losing it as I finally release her from the last strap. "Why did you have to put it like _that_?" she gasps in between her laughter. She sits up and quickly maneuvers herself, so she can pull the duvet over her. I roll over and sit upright along with her, making our hips touch.

"Hey, you're the one talking about _unloading in caves_. I figured that's where we were heading in this conversation," I smirk, shrugging my shoulders. She smiles a shy smile, the very same one that never lets me forget that this beautiful girl is such a stark walking contradiction. It's extremely difficult to believe that this same girl just cried out to me, begging me to come on her breasts.

"You were a virgin when I met you," I remind her. "So where did you get the idea of me doing that?" I start smoothing down her wild tendrils as she studies her intertwined fingers in her lap.

"Well…I sort of see a… _um_ …sex therapist," she mutters.

I clear my throat. "Excuse me?" Surely, I didn't hear her correctly.

"Her name is Joy. She specializes in sexual wellbeing and intimacy…"

"Wait a minute," I cut her off, angling my body so that I can catch a better view of her. "You've been seeing a _sex expert_?"

I can see the shade of embarrassment rising up from her now covered chest to her neck and soon, face. "Yes," she says softly. "She owns a company here in Portland called _Seduction and Stamina_. She specializes in… _well_ …you know," she shrugs her shoulders.

"In _seduction_ and _stamina_ ," I guess, beyond amused. She doesn't even bother to look up at me when she nods. "So, she gives you advice? About sex?" Miss Steele nods. "And she gives you manuals, too? Tools?" Miss Steele nods again. "Did she happen to introduce you to Kegel balls?"

Slowly, she turns her head and finally looks at me.

"Yeah. She did."

"Well, that explains things," I say, fighting back a smile. "Well, give Joy my sincerest gratitude the next time you see her." Anastasia chuckles. "Where did you meet her?"

"She's a very good friend of Betsy's. I actually met her when she was putting on a party at Betsy's house on the night that you _so-happened_ to stop by," she smirks.

"Oh yes," I quickly recall. "So, there _was_ in fact a party going on at Mrs. Davis' house."

She nods. "I never denied it."

"And did you leave that party with anything?" I say, arching a brow, and her skin just loves to stay pink.

"I did," she says reluctantly.

"Was it the Kegel balls?"

Miss Steele shakes her head. "I didn't get those until almost two weeks after you and I started having sex."

I smile. "Alright. So, what did you leave with, then?"

Call me a sadist – believe me, more than one person probably already has – but I just love watching this girl react from being pulled out of her comfort zone. She's never dull; not by a long shot, and she always keeps me guessing.

"Ana? What did you leave the party with?" I impose once more.

"Black Beauty," she whispers, fighting a shy smile.

My eyelids flutter. "What's that? Is that a… _dildo_ of some sort?"

She nods. "It vibrates. I won it during one of those party quizzes where you win a prize for calling out the right answer."

 _Oh, oh, oh…now we're getting somewhere._  
I perk up.

"What was the question you got right?"

"It was an uneducated guess, really. The first lady said the wrong answer, which is the exact response that I would've gave had I been chosen to go first."

"Do you remember the question?" I ask, beyond intrigued as I continue to stroke her hair.

"How many different types of orgasms is a woman capable of having?" she recalls. I can tell that she's having a hard time discussing the subject of sex, which totally boggles my mind. Hell, she sees a _sexpert_ for crying out loud. And not too long ago from this very moment, she was telling me where to drop off my load. I shake my head internally at the irony.

"And the first person guessed ' _one'_?"

She nods.

"And you guessed ' _three'_?"

She gapes at me.

"Yes Anastasia, I know exactly how many. I've induced all three before."

"With _me_?" she says, looking so beautiful; so innocent.

"No. Perhaps two out of the three with you. But there's a very powerful _third_ one," I say, narrowing my eyes.

"Yeah?" she gasps.

"Mmm, hmm," I hum, smoothing my hand across her soft face and down to her chin. I lift it up and lean in to kiss her gently on the lips. "I'm eager to demonstrate that one right now, if you'd like."

Stunned, she barely nods her head in response. I kiss her mouth again.

"And next week, make sure you bring _Black Beauty_ here with you," I urge. "I'd like for you to show me how you've been using her. And who knows…I might even try a few things with her on you."

Before she can get a word in edgewise, I'm already shoving my tongue down her throat.

 _Damn, this woman is beyond irresistible._

* * *

ANA

It's unprecedented for Christian to stay in Portland on a Sunday, but last night he did.

When I woke up alone in the executive suite very early this morning, it took a few moments for me to realize that I'd be heading straight to school this time around. So, I decided to shower, get dressed, and leave just after six o'clock in order to beat traffic heading into Vancouver.

As I exit the executive suite, I catch the eye of a lady from housekeeping as she loads a discarded room service trey onto a cart. The older African American woman's eyes open big and wide.

" _Um_ , excuse me Miss – but aren't you here just about every weekend?"

My eyes are as round as moons and I stammer, wondering what the issue is. I immediately assume that this woman is going to dispatch the front desk and then they will demand to see the man who this suite is registered under.

 _He's long gone, lady._

"Is there a problem?" I finally say.

"No honey," she says, quickly dismissing every ounce of tension between us. "Not at all. I just want to say – whenever I work this hall on weekends, it sounds like your man is doing you _real_ good in there. You go, girl!" she cheers on, now beaming wide at me like a proud den mother. I feel my skin turning beet red.

" _Oops_ …I…"

"No need to apologize, baby girl. You just keep on getting that good, sweet lovin'," she grins and then winks.

And then she walks away, pushing the cart without looking back or saying another word. I'm stunned, virtually stuck to the outside of the suite's door for at least another two minutes before I finally make way towards the elevator.

Last night, I got spanked hard before sex and I loved it, _shockingly_. I woke up this morning thoroughly confused by my reaction to the event, so I decided to call Joy on my way to campus to see if I could pay her a visit after classes this afternoon.

….

"I just wanted to know if I was going insane or not," I sigh after delivering a whirlwind of words as I sit across from the ever calm, ever cool, Joy Lords.

She slowly unravels her big, proud smile. "No. You're not crazy. Look Ana, I am thrilled that this man is bringing out a whole new side of you."

"It totally bugs me out that something that's meant to correct you…to straighten you out and frighten you – makes your _freak flag_ fly," I say in a frantic huff.

Joy laughs. "You are still in the discovery phase, Ana. You're constantly unlocking new jewels each time the two of you explore unchartered territory. But as you continue to explore, don't be afraid to pull back if something doesn't feel right. As a dominant, your partner is obligated to only engage in what _you_ are comfortable with – so bear that in mind."

It never ceases to boggle my mind each time that I'm reminded that Christian is a dom. Sure, he has an extremely bossy personality, _but_ he's more caring and tender than any other guy that I know. If I'm ever upset, Christian Grey demands to know why. He's a natural fixer. It pleases me to know that it isn't always all about _him_ whenever we are together.

 _However,_ there are still two final eggs that I need to crack before I can feel liberated enough to hand deliver my entire heart to him.

….

As Friday comes again, so do I.

 _I can't believe I'm doing this._

I'm in the bed of the executive suite once again – this time, spread eagle and quivering with Black Beauty lodged in between my naked thighs. Christian sits back and licks his chops as he watches me from the lounger, nursing a tumbler of gin. His dress shirt is buttoned down to the middle of his chest, exposing his sexy island of chest hair, so it's quite easy to imagine that it's _him_ making me feel this way right now and not some silicone object set to mode _thirty-three_ out of _eighty-eight_.

I can't believe that when I finally bring the toy here with me per his request, instead of using it on me himself, he demands me to strip out of my performance clothes, get into bed, and show him how I use it when I'm all alone. But just as I am when I dance, I soon get lost in the feeling of it all and nearly forget that Christian is in the room. Well, until I catch his fiery eyes digging into me from across the way.

"That's it, baby," he coaches from the sidelines. "Good girl. Now let me see how you make yourself come."

His satin voice delivers the final blow, and I start to quake, wailing out my release.

"Very good, Anastasia," he croons. As I continue to shatter, I suddenly hear his footfalls coming towards me. From the corner of my eye, I catch a flash of white as he tugs his shirt completely off. Then his pants go down.

Shortly, Christian takes the reins of Black Beauty, pressing her against my clit as he fucks me hard from behind. I continue to fall into one orgasm after the next as he relentlessly rocks my socks off _repeatedly_ for the rest of the night with no mercy.

* * *

CHRISTIAN

I'm feeling mighty adventurous on a Saturday.

"Would you like to pretend to be my submissive for the night?" I ask with puppy dog eyes as she sits in my lap after finishing a cock-provoking dance to Christina _Milian's Dip It Low_. I let my fingers do the walking along her breasts at the trim line of her satiny red burlesque-inspired corset. She looks delicious enough to eat.

"I thought I was already doing that when I let you tie me up," she pipes back.

"It's more than just being restrained, Anastasia," I smile at her. "It's about putting your trust totally and completely in me."

"I already do that," she argues.

"Baby…when a sub meets her dom, she's always ready for her next instruction. You show your dom that you are ready by kneeling with your hands flat on your thighs. Do you think that you're ready to try that?"

 _Please say yes._

To my delight, she slowly lifts from my lap and then lowers down to the floor facing me. With a smile on her face, she kneels and then suddenly remembers to place her palms flat on her thighs.

"Like this?" she asks.

"Yes…but spread your thighs wider." She does it slightly. " _Wider_ ," I urge. She moves them again. "Very good," I say, praising her.

"Is this where I call you _'Master'_?" she frowns severely.

"No, you don't have to call me that. _Sir_ or Mr. Grey will do."

"So, you don't want me to call you _Christian_ , anymore?"

"When we're _not_ in a scene, that is permitted. But while we're in a scene, it's best that we remember our roles. In that moment, I am your dom and you are my sub."

"A _scene_?" she says, puzzled.

"A scene is the exact scenario that we will always discuss ahead of time before it ever happens. First, we lay out all the rules. Once we both agree to them, then we play," I say with a sultry grin. I notice the air catching in her throat. "At the start of the scene, you will kneel and wait for my instructions, just as you're doing now. However, you are not allowed to look up at me or speak unless I summons you to do so. Understand?"

Her reaction leaves much to be desired.  
 _This isn't sitting well with her._

"Anastasia, just try it. One scene. And when it's all over, if you don't like it, I won't ask you to do it again. Okay?" I offer.

I can practically see the wheels churning in her head. We both sit in silence as she continues to mull over the proposition that I've just given her.

 _If she can't do this now, will she ever?  
Would she object to becoming my submissive after she graduates college in May?_

No…I can't even think about that right now. We've already done so much together. What I'm asking of her right now isn't that much of a stretch. All she needs to do is just let go and broaden her horizons just a little bit more.

 _She can do it.  
I know she can._

"If I have to call you _Sir_ …or _Mr. Grey_ , what do you call me?"

I smile at her. " _Anastasia_? Hmm…" I say, now pondering out loud for an alternative.

"London?" she offers.

"No," I say too quickly. She blinks as if she remembers the traumatic hot mess that is _Zion_ before she helped put Jay Dark out of business. "What about… _Danseuse_?"

" _Danseuse_?" she echoes. "That's French for a _lady dancer…_ right?"

I smile and nod as she looks at me with innocent wide eyes.

….

This will be the last time I'll see Miss Steele until after Christmas. Although the fact is sobering, I'm newly elated as I walk into the master bedroom of my suite and see her kneeling and waiting for me, just as she was trained to do so last night.

One minute, she's seductively bopping her ponytail around me in the main room to _…Baby One More Time_ , while wearing a white poodle skirt and cream sweater – looking as innocent as she can be. The next minute, she's kneeling in the bedroom, wearing nothing _but_ the sweater, thanks to some sizzling hot _pregaming festivities_ in the main room. I absolutely couldn't help myself. Also, the irony of tonight's song choice isn't lost on me, considering the multiple times I slapped her on the ass last night. So, a short time ago, I decided to enlighten her by putting her across my knee…for her pleasure, of course.  
 _And mine._

 _I'm beyond pleased to see her this way_ – I think as I amble around her kneeling body, examining her as she awaits my instruction. Her head is tilted down, her eyes are closed, and her hands lay flat on her bare thighs. I hover over her like a god.

"Danseuse. Place your hands behind your back and thread your fingers together."

She doesn't hesitate to obey my command.

I kneel behind her and begin to intricately lace up her elbows in quick Shibari using a long cut of rope. Soon, I transition the rope down to her wrists and do the same there.

Fifteen minutes later, she's in bed facing down, and I'm on my hands and knees wreaking havoc on her sex and anus with my mouth. Soon, she's having one of the strongest orgasms that I've ever seen her have. It's so intense and powerful that I could've sworn that I saw her release gushing right out of her. I'm exultant.

I can't believe how fucking eager I am to give this beautiful girl the most pleasure that her body has ever experienced. It dawns on me that our _play_ starts way before we even reach the bedroom. It happens _way before_ she even dances. It truly begins with our witty banter over the phone when she calls to tell me that she's on her way here. It's also taking place while I'm massaging her feet and pampering her like the sweet princess that she is not long after we enjoy dinner together.

As I turn her body over to the side, I see that she is both spent and satiated. When her eyes finally flicker open, she catches my smile.

"You've pleased me tonight, Danseuse. Is there anything that you want to do? If so, what is your request?"

I'm expecting her to tell me to either untie her wrists, or maybe fuck her hard. Instead…

"I'd like to taste you, too." I gape at her. "Sir," she adds, thinking that's the reason why I'm looking at her so strangely.

It's not.

Part of me is frustrated by the fact that this girl can shift on a dime and throw me entirely off of my game. I'm not used to having anyone top from the bottom.

 _I won't have it._

"Not now, Danseuse," I tell her, and she gasps. Instead of letting her have her way this soon into the night, I flip her back around and resume my oral ministrations on _her_. It doesn't take long for her to end up screaming out her pleasure into the mattress.

 _Hopefully, she's too exhausted to give back.  
I don't want her seeing me fall apart by her hands._

"What do you want, Anastasia," I ask again as she moans loudly.

" _I_ …I want to taste you, Sir," she says, trembling.

 _Fuck._

" _Please_ ," she begs, with tears threatening to break free from her eyes. "Please. I want this."

This girl is _so_ desperate to please me too, that I can't comprehend why. I've practically given her all of the power in the world to receive pleasure, but she wants nothing more than to give it back to me.

"You want to taste me, Anastasia?" I ask.

Her head turns sideways, and she nods. " _Yes_. Yes, Sir. _Please_."

Without another second thought, I pull her from the bed and place her on the floor, guiding her onto her knees. I then come around her as she kneels with her arms still bound behind her back. I step up to her with my crotch in her face and then lower my jeans right before her. When my fully erect cock sits ready in my enclosed fist, Miss Steele begins to lick her lips.

"Is this what you want, Danseuse?" I murmur.

"Yes, Sir. I want it. Badly," she whispers right back.

Her begging makes my desire overflow. Without any further hesitation, I clasp both of my hands behind her head, and she leans forward, taking me in. I groan.

 _Fuck!_

After a few beats, her mouth and tongue masterfully bring surges of pleasure up and down my spine.

"Shit… _baby_ …" I can barely contain myself as my eyes start to roll into the back of my head. I'm gripping her hair fiercely as her suction begins to intensify, taking me right to the edge. It doesn't take long before I explode into her mouth, and she takes in every single drop of me.

As I cut her free from the rope using a pocket knife, I ponder on the wonderful possibilities that a week-long visit from Anastasia Steele at my home in Seattle could bring.

* * *

ANA

"Hey there, Annie," my father greets me with a hug as I enter the very house that I've lived in for the longest span of time.

I'm glad that I decided to make the drive back home to Montesano from Vancouver the day before Christmas Eve. I'm certain that if I waited one more a day, traffic would've been absolutely miserable.

"Let me get that," Ray offers to take my medium suitcase. I swat him away.

"I know the routine," I smile. "And I still know where my room is. Unless you already made it an extension of your home-based workshop," I tease.

"Hey, that's not a bad idea," he teases right back.

"I'll be right back," I laugh before heading off towards my bedroom.

About an hour later, Ray and I enjoy our favorite nearby Chinese takeout on the floor while some old black and white holiday gangster flick plays out in the background.

"So, I talked to your mother earlier this month," he starts.

"Oh?" I say, surprised. They don't really talk all that much, unless it's about me. I brace for the worst.

"She mentioned that your new boyfriend showed up at the house in Georgia."

I sigh. _Damn it, Carla. I wanted to be the one to bring up Christian to Ray.  
Thanks a lot, Mom._

The relationship between my mother and me totally differs from the relationship between my father and me. And although I feel that I am much closer with Ray than I am with my mom, I aim to remain on neutral ground with him. I can guarantee that my _complicated_ relationship with an older billionaire would most certainly place me on a different level with my father, which I absolutely _don't_ want.

"Things are still brand new," I tell him, hoping that he'll completely drop the topic.

He chuckles. "Annie, I know you better than anyone. That's your way of telling me that you don't want to talk about it."

I look up from my take-out container in one hand while holding a pair of chopsticks in the other. I smile.

"I respect that. You know I do. But should I be expecting a surprise visit here in Montesano as well?"

"Oh no," I gasp. "Not if I can help it. As long as I call or text, he will stay put with his family, and I'll get a chance to spend time with mine…meaning _you_ ," I say, smiling lovingly.

"Oh yeah…your phone broke in Georgia," he recalls. "Assaulted by a golf ball, I hear?"

I crack up laughing. "Yeah. It was hilarious."

"And the boyfriend couldn't get ahold of you, huh? Was that why he popped up in Georgia?"

I nod, but I continue to give off the air of already being done with the subject of my ' _boyfriend'_. I don't feel like trying to explain him or justify him to anyone, much less my own father. Thankfully, Ray _finally_ catches the hint.

"Hey…I'm working on this dresser for the Dillons. You remember Greg and Martha Dillon around the block?"

"Uh huh," I nod.

"I even tried a brand new artsy-fartsy wood carving technique."

"You?" I snort. Not _Old School Raymond Steele. Never._

"Yep. Nearly impressed myself."

I laugh. Impressing my aloof father is not an easy feat. I'm extra curious to see what he's done.

"It's out in the garage if you wanna see."

I beam. "Absolutely. Let's go."

* * *

CHRISTIAN

Holidays have never been a huge deal for me, although Grace goes completely out of the way to make them a big deal. It all began the same year that I was adopted. I recall not really getting excited about Christmas until around age seven, after Mia was in the picture. Until then, I was haunted by the first four years of my life.

One particular year when I was still with the crack whore, I remember her giving me some cheap ol' gas station-bought tin matchbox car with three working wheels and one that refused to move. But I loved that thing. It was mine.

Until the asshole pimp came over and crushed it on purpose with his boot and laughed dead in my face after he did so. _Fucking prick._ So, from that point until age seven, I absolutely loathed Christmas.

From my teenage years on, I became… _indifferent_ about the holiday. Not so much loathing it anymore. And even though my family can be rather annoying, I still enjoy spending the holidays with them. It's the one time when I don't feel bad about not thinking about work. _Well_ , at least until I return to my apartment.

But today, I don't feel completely up to getting all festive in a red sweater and jeans before making the trek over to Bellevue. My mind's been elsewhere these days.

 _I wonder what Miss Steele is doing._

I sit at the breakfast bar with my coffee and croissant, toying with the idea of calling her.

 _Fuck it._

I pick up the phone and find her name under the list of recent calls.

"Hello," she answers right away.

She sounds just a slight bit tired.  
 _Well, it is just after seven._

"Merry Christmas, Miss Steele," I say in greeting.

"Merry Christmas," she quietly chuckles.

"Did I wake you?"

"No…not really. I've been up for the last fifteen, twenty minutes."

"Good. I'm happy to hear your voice this morning," I say, beaming like a lunatic.

"Same here," she says in the most adorable voice.

"So, what's the cause of you being up this early? Besides my call, of course," I tease.

"I'm actually getting started on Christmas dinner," she reveals.

I smile, knowing that my mother is probably up to the same exact thing right this second. Everything has to be absolutely perfect for Dr. Grace Trevelyan-Grey.

"What's on the menu?" I ask.

"Bread stuffing, green bean casserole, yams, cranberry sauce, salad..."

"Turkey?" I interrupt, quickly recalling that she didn't have an opportunity to partake in any bird over Thanksgiving.

"Of course," she perks. "We're deep frying it."

"Oh, how fancy," I taunt.

"You mean, _'How redneck'_?" she spouts back.

"Not at all. Deep fried turkey is the bee's knees."

" _The bee's knees_?" she giggles.

Her laugh – I tell you, it just does something to me.  
I can't explain it.

"It's very tender and juicy," I say it in a very low tone of voice.

"Oh…is it?" she purrs.

 _So, we're taking it there, huh Miss Steele._

"And succulent."

"I see," she breathes.

"Save me a piece," I murmur silkily.

"I'll be sure to do that," she flirts back.

"Can I get it next week? You'll be back in Vancouver on Monday, right?"

"Christian…"

" _Please_? Pretty please?"

My plea just slips out of me and I let it linger on the line in between us. She and I have come so far, and I'd like to see us progress even further. I have a few surprises in store for her over at my apartment, one of them she's most definitely earned.

 _I can't_ _ **wait**_ _to give it to her._

"We'll see," she sighs. "I have to see what Ray has planned. If he has to go to work on Monday, then I'll come home."

"Alright. Make sure you tell your father that I said ' _hello'_."

"I'll do that," she sasses, making it sound certain that she has no intention of telling her dad about me. I _could_ feel sour about it, but at least I've already met her mother.

I _also_ haven't told my family about _her_.

"And let me know what the plan is for Monday. If you make it back to Vancouver, I'll pick you up at your place. Will that work?" I offer.

"Yeah, sure. Kate will still be in Mexico for the holidays."

Oh, golly gee…good ol' Katherine Kavanagh. Why Anastasia continues to give a fuck about her, I really don't know.

"Alright, well I'll let you get back to your _deep-fried turkey_. Merry Christmas, baby," I croon.

"Merry Christmas, Christian."

As soon as we hang up, I immediately wish that we were spending this holiday together in some shape or form.

 _Get a grip, Grey._

….

"Why WSU Vancouver?" Mia asks me from across the sectional, frowning.

The family is all gathered in the main room as we await dinner.

"There's absolutely _no_ action going on in Vancouver or Portland in the female department. The chicks there look like granola mountain women who don't shave," snorts Elliot.

 _You don't get out of Seattle much, do you, Elliot._

My mother Grace practically cuts him into two with her eyes, and he simpers like an asshole.

"The institution is pretty much at the cutting edge of global green technologies," my father Carrick chimes in.

"Exactly," I nod in agreement.

"Yeah, yeah. Can we _not_ talk nerd shit today?" grumbles my pain in the ass older brother.

"Elliot!" Grace snaps. "Language."

"Sorry, mom," he atones.

"I recently heard that Stefan Neumann filed for bankruptcy," Carrick says matter-of-factly. "Didn't you just acquire his company?"

"I did," I reply.

"So why would he be broke?"

"I cut his salary and completely tied up all of his assets. Oh, and he'll probably be getting deported very soon," I reveal without breaking a sweat as I reach for a _pig in a blanket_ on the nearby tray of hors d'oeuvres.

"Oh my god, Christian," Grace gasps in utter shock. "Why'd you do that?"

"Because…he fucked with the wrong one."

" _Oooooh_!" Elliot calls out just like the immature brat that he is.  
My mother is stunned silent.

"Gosh, what did he do?" gapes Mia.

"It doesn't matter," I say, short.

" _Holy psycho_ ," Elliot sighs under his breath.

"Elliot," Grace chastises him once again.

"Why me?" he whines. "Christian just said _'fuck'_ and you didn't say _a word_ to him."

"Elliot, shut up," my father exhales in exhaustion, and Mia cracks up laughing.

….

Not too long after most of us are seated, Grace come strolling into the dining room with an old friend.

 _Shit_ – I sigh under my breath.

"Elena! Welcome," gushes Carrick as he rises and kisses her on both cheeks. "Merry Christmas."

"Carrick, darling," she purrs. I roll my eyes to myself.

 _Why in the fuck is she here?  
Doesn't her submissive Isaac have Christmas dinner all prepared back at her dungeon lair?_

She makes the rounds, air kissing Elliot, then Mia. Then she gets to me.

"Christian, sweetheart," she purrs quietly as I kiss her on both cheeks. "Oh, how I've missed you."

"Elena," I utter, void of emotion.

"Everyone, sit," peps Grace. "Gretchen's bringing out the first course."

Unfortunately, Elena decides to pop a squat next to me before my mother's young foreign housekeeper comes around with pumpkin soup. When Gretchen gets to Elena and me, she gives me the googly-eyes for ten seconds too long. Only when I turn away, avoiding her, does she decide to return to the kitchen.

"I see that she still has the hots for you," Elena whispers to me from over my shoulder. "Do you think that she's the submissive type, too? She is in the service industry, you know."

I cut her a deadly look. "What in the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

"Settle down, Christian," she teases. "I was only kidding."

With perfect timing, my mother interrupts and begins to shoot the breeze with Elena from across the table. By the time we get to dessert, my little sister is moaning and clutching her stomach.

"Oh god…I'm going to die. I'm _so_ full."

Elliot is smiling like a fool. "That was wonderful, mom. Thanks."

"Yeah – thanks, mom," I say, echoing his very sentiment.

" _Oh_ ," Grace says bashfully, waving us away with both hands as her emotions start to get the better of her. My mother has always loved doing for her children and her preparing such a big holiday meal for us is simply an extension of that.

"That was exquisite, Grace," praises Elena.

"Thank you, Elena. And thanks so much for joining us."

"I wouldn't want to be anywhere else," she says, now beaming at me. I freeze.

 _She'd better watch it, or an old secret just might slip out._

"Does anyone want more coffee?" Grace quips.

"I'll have some," Elena calls out.

I raise my hand, and so does Carrick.

"Where's Gretchen?" Grace sighs, flustered. She rises from her seat and heads towards the kitchen.

While Elliot, Mia and Carrick are in the middle of a spirited conversation, Elena turns to me.

"So…this _Anastasia_ girl," she starts with a whisper, "is she still in the picture?"

"Yes," I say without hesitation.

She passes me a displeased look. "Oh. I see."

"Not that it's any of your business," I growl.

"You've been ignoring my calls and texts, Christian. Lest you forget, we still run a business together. You _ignoring_ me…it isn't like you to do that. She's changed you, and it's _not_ for the better."

"So, you admit that I've changed?" I throw back in her face.

She laughs. "That's just it. You may _act_ like you've changed, but the _old you_ is still in there. You'll never truly change, and she'll definitely see that. She's not cut out for our lifestyle, Christian. Once she realizes who you really are, she'll run for the hills."

Before I lash out on her in front of my family I stand to my feet and exit the dining room without saying another word.

 _I wish she'd just leave me the fuck alone and let me live my life for once.  
I'm not fifteen anymore, so I wish she'd stop treating me as if I were. _

When my mother resurfaces from the kitchen, I catch her concerned gaze as I breeze on by. I hear her calling out my name, but I'm already jogging up the staircase. I know for a fact that my family will confront Elena about my sudden departure.

And just like always, she'll make up some bullshit answer in order to hide the fact that she was fucking me back when I was fifteen years old.

* * *

 ** _A/N: Not such a Merry Christmas for Christian, is it? ;)_**

 ** _Trust me, Ana has a much better time over the holidays with Ray as they entertain the Rodriguez men in the next chapter. Currently titled "Culmination", chapter 17 will be one of the most intense chapters yet. I actually referred to it as the "Sexual Olympics" to my pre-reader, haha! It will probably be super long (just like chapter 1), and it promises to put the emotions through the wringer. You don't want to miss it._**

 ** _Right now, I'm looking to wrap this story up in the next four chapters, so things will begin to move at warp speed from here._**

 ** _Thanks so much for reading! – ST2_**

 ** _PS: Please remember that APD updates are normally scheduled on Sundays EST, so don't get used to early surprises on a regular basis. ;)_**

 ** _Dance Song Suggestion Shout Outs: Kudos to "Storie Tells All" Facebook group members Lizzie Z. for suggesting "…Baby One More Time", and Karima G. for bringing one of my favorite artists, Sade back into my remembrance. I can't believe that I was thinking of wrapping this thing up without having my girl Ana dance to some Sade. It would've been a tragedy!_**


	17. Chapter 17 - Culmination

**Chapter 17** **–** **Culmination**

ANA

No complaints about Christmas yesterday. In fact, it was wonderful.

After exchanging gifts, Ray I commenced to deep frying a turkey out in the yard while I whipped up all of the fixings in the kitchen. Then we stuffed our faces, binged watched our favorite old Christmas movies, and crashed.

However, it was the first thirty minutes of the morning that really set the tone for the rest of my upbeat day. It was truly surreal getting a phone call from Christian shortly after waking up. It was…encouraging.

Before then, I'd assumed that I was the only one thinking about _us_ when I woke up in the morning. _And when I go to bed at night._ Even though he makes it seem like I'm the only person in the world during the times that we're together, that feeling inside of me never moved outside of The Heathman.

His early morning disappearing act does very little to encourage that feeling.

I've pondered over his sudden drop-in over at my mom's in Georgia, and him announcing to her and Bob that he's my boyfriend. But was it the truth, or was it just a cover for him to justify checking in on me during the height of that whole Jay Dark ordeal?

 _A real boyfriend doesn't leave you alone in bed in the middle of the night without telling you._

I even thought about the time over lunch on campus when it was just him and I.

 _"_ _And what do you suppose that I tell her?"_

 _"_ _That I'm your boyfriend."_

 _"_ _Well, are you?"._

 _"_ _Yes."_

I gave him a clear out, yet he didn't take it. He said that he was my boyfriend straight to my face. Yet, it didn't stop him from giving me the slip the last time we were in bed together.

And then there was Christmas morning. As I groggily drug myself into the kitchen to start prepping for holiday dinner, the first thing I thought about was him.

 _I wonder what Christian's doing today. Did he stay the night with his parents and wake up to a nice breakfast just before exchanging gifts?_

 _Is he thinking of me like I'm thinking of him?_

I never thought in a million years that he'd call.

 _"_ _I'm happy to hear your voice this morning."_

I get butterflies just reimagining his words.

It was the first time I ever truly felt like a _real_ girlfriend.

….

"Hey Annie, I forgot to tell you that Mrs. Conway invited us over for brunch today at her clubhouse," Ray says as we both scarf down a bowl of cereal at the tiny kitchen table.

I gape at him. No wonder he insisted on us eating a small breakfast. I'm just surprised that he didn't bring up this _brunch_ earlier. I give him a scandalous smirk, but his usual grumpy expression doesn't waver.

" _Oh_ …Mrs. Conway. The widow, right?"

"That would be the very one."

"The one who has the hots for you?"

He cuts me with his eyes. "Annie… _quit_."

Ray, what gives? You've been divorced from my mom for over four years. Carla has already moved on… _twice_. You have yet to move on _once_.

"I'm serious. Why does she keep inviting you to go to church with her?"

"To keep her company, I reckon."

" _Aaannnddd_ …."

" _And_ that's it. Get your head out of the gutter, girl," he snarls.

"It's _not_ in the gutter," I scoff. "Mrs. Conway _likes_ you. Why can't you see that?"

"Stop being ridiculous," he vocalizes with an irritated growl. "She's just friendly, is all."

"Fine. Keep being blind," I tease.

"Shush it," he hisses, and I pretend that I'm zipping up my lips while fighting back a grin. "Hey…by the way, would you mind if José Sr. and Jr. join us there? I invited them. Mrs. Conway said I could."

I sigh.

 _Great_.  
 _José._

Our last phone conversation was rather awkward, to say the least. I know that he's not over me lying to Christian about who he is, but it was for his own safety; _believe me_.

I don't need to drag Ray into my mess, so I must act as though all is hunky dory with José and me.

"Yeah, sure. I haven't seen Mr. Rodriguez in quite a while. It'll be good to see him."

"Good. I know that they were also talking about going ice fishing. We certainly won't be doing that today, but maybe tomorrow we can all go. That's if I don't have to work in the shop tomorrow morning."

 _Tomorrow_? I still have to contend with the possibility of skating out of Montesano a few days early, and then heading over to Seattle with Christian. However, those plans are still up in the air. I told him that I'd let him know first thing in the morning what my plans are.

Regardless, I don't see myself going ice fishing. _Blech_. Whatever Ray plans on doing – be it _working_ or _fishing_ , I'm probably going to be heading back home to Vancouver sometime tomorrow.

"Yeah, José was telling me about that. Don't know if I'll fancy sitting outside in the cold up north. I just might leave you fellas to it," I say with a slightly turned-up nose.

" _Aww Annie_ , don't be like that. You'd love it. We can even get you some of those battery-operated britches to keep you warm. You won't even know you're out in the elements."

"Oh, I highly doubt that," I chuckle.

….

Mrs. Conway's community clubhouse is sublime. The outside is dressed to the gills with Christmas decorations. The inside is just as breathtaking. There are at least two full-sized Christmas trees in the lobby. Here in the banquet hall, there are four medium-sized decorated trees in each corner and rubber tree plants with strings of lights and bows scattered throughout. Wreaths and holly decorate the walls, and holiday tunes play softly in the background as the brunch guests start to file in.

This scene is so _hoity toity_ , that I'm so glad that I brought along this emerald green velvet wrap dress, courtesy of Mr. Christian Grey. When I first saw it, I had no idea what dance I would wear it with. However, the dress was still classy enough to wear to a potential holiday get together. I wasn't sure if Ray had anything planned as far as dinner with friends, but I'm grateful that I had the foresight to bring it anyway.

My dad on the other hand loves his flannel button-up shirts and _dad-jeans_. Regardless, Ray still looks handsome and suitable for the occasion since a lot of the men present who didn't arrive here directly from church are just as casually dressed as he is.

I look through the puffy poinsettia sitting on the table in front of me and can't help but smile catching Mrs. Conway get all handsy with my stepfather as she stands right over him. Her laughter is a little exaggerated – but still cute as the bottled-blonde, festively attired sweet widow has her hands firmly planted on Ray's shoulders. And Ray, bless him…he's trying so hard to fight back a grin, but I still see it.

 _He likes her, too._

"I'll be back again later. I'm going to check on the other guests," Mrs. Conway says to him, and then looks across at me and beams. "I just _adore_ that dress, Ana," she compliments once more.

"Thank you," I smile back.

"Well, aren't you fancy," Ray teases as he pushes the massive holiday plant aside in order to get a better view of me. "That new high-scale babysitter job has certainly impacted your wardrobe."

I look down nervously and clear my throat.

 _I absolutely hate lying to my father._

"Hey there, good people!"

I look up and see José and his father approaching the table. I stand and give José Sr. a great big hug.

"Mr. Rodriguez!"

"So good to see you, Ana," he says sweetly in his adorable lingering accent.

As he goes over to the other side to greet Ray, his son José stands right in front of me. We hug, but it's extremely awkward.

"Hey," I say softly as we let go.

"Hey," he echoes just the same.

He sits in the empty chair beside me, and his father sits across from us and next to Ray.

For the first fifteen minutes, José and I aren't speaking to one another. Luckily, our fathers keep us entertained with their wild stories. Soon, the laughter is just enough to finally break the tension between José and me.

"I always wondered why your father has such an accent, but you don't," I say to him while our fathers are talking amongst themselves and then to their tablemates as brunch is now in full swing.

"I don't?"

"No, you don't," I smile.

"Well, you know that my dad was born here, too."

I nod. "Yeah, I know."

"It's just that while he was growing up, his community was so _closed-in_. The schools that he went to weren't really integrated yet, so he didn't have a strong American influence until he joined the military. Needless to say, things were much different when I came along."

I'm fascinated. "Did your mother speak with an accent as well?"

"A little bit. It wasn't as strong as my dad's," he remembers. "We spoke a combination of Spanish and English around the house. My dad and I still do it."

"I know," I smile. "I think it's the coolest thing when you two do that."

"Yeah?" he says in that _aww-shucks_ sort of way.

"Totally."

Regardless of where things now stand between José and me, I truly hope that we can remain good friends. However, every so often, I can't help but recall the night of my birthday party, and how much he'd crossed the line. But thinking back on it, I know that wasn't _really_ him.

 _This_ José, the one who's sitting next to me right now reminiscing about life when his mom was still alive, _that's_ the José I know.

….

After brunch, the Rodriguez boys join Ray and me back at the house for a _Gin Rummy Battle Royale_. Ray is decimating us one by one. As Ray and José Sr. begin _their_ showdown, José helps me bring a few dessert dishes from the living room into the kitchen.

"That was some bomb ass pie, Ana," he praises as we each load the small dishwasher.

"Thanks. You want another slice?"

"Sure."

I go ahead and retrieve the pie from under the glass dome nearby.

"Hey…are you still seeing that _Grey_ guy?" he says out of nowhere. I flinch.

"Yes," I say, short, as I retrieve the clean pie spatula from the dishrack.

"Does Ray know about him?"

"Yes," I nod.

"Has he met him yet?"

My eyes close suddenly.

 _I'm getting fed up with the fifty questions._

"Not yet," I say quietly through my teeth.

"Oh," he says, simply.

"My mom has met him."

"Has she?" he says in a higher-pitched voice. He's beyond surprised. "But she lives in Georgia."

"Yeah. He was in town on business during Thanksgiving, so he stopped by."

"Oh. _So_ …it's quite serious, huh?"

I wonder why it matters so much to him. It's… _odd_.

"As serious as it can be under the circumstances, I guess. I'm still in school in Vancouver. He lives and runs his business from Seattle," I put into perspective.

"And you still plan on moving to Seattle with Kate after graduation?" he throws in. I nod. "Well…I hope everything works out for the two of you. You and your boyfriend."

 _Whoa_ , he actually looks sincere when he says it. I'm astonished.

"Thanks José…so do I."

"Just make sure that he doesn't find out who I am and rip my face off, okay? I rather like it," he says, humorously patting down his cheeks with both hands.

I snort and then laugh. "I'll make sure that he doesn't."

"Hey Annie! Why don't you bring the winner another slice of that yummy pumpkin pie?" Ray yells out from the other room.

"Screw you, Steele!" snarls José Sr.

José Jr. and I crack up laughing.

….

Early this morning when Ray decided to head over to his woodshop away from home to finish up a project for a big customer, I told him that I'd probably be heading home. When he urged me to stay with the promise that he wouldn't be gone for long, I stressed that I had a few things at home to take care of. I also added that it would be nice to do those things while having the place all to myself, being that Kate's still away spending the holidays with her family. Ray totally understood. So, before I left, he and I hug, kiss, and then make tentative plans to spend more time together sometime early spring.

The two-hour drive home was smooth, and it was good walking into an empty apartment. As I make myself comfortable after unpacking and starting a load of laundry next door, I'm nearly tempted to push out my trip to Seattle with Christian to Wednesday in order to enjoy the peace and quiet here.

 _Perhaps I can dive into two really good books.  
Or maybe I can teach myself a new dance._

But the moment I think about him, the more anxious I am to see him sooner rather than later. This has been the longest time we've gone without seeing each other since I first started dancing for him.

I'm beginning to feel like a lovesick fool.

When I walk back into the apartment after switching out loads of laundry, I have my mind set on texting Christian to let him know that I made it home safely. As I walk across the living room to where my iPhone sits on the coffee table, it starts to buzz. I look at the screen and then smirk.

 _It's him._

"Hey…I was just getting ready to text you."

"Were you?" Christian purrs, a smile evident in his voice.

"Seriously, I was."

"So," he says rather ceremoniously. "What's your answer? Are you planning on spending the week with me in Seattle?"

I sigh. "Gee, I really don't know. I have like five loads of laundry to do…"

"Bring it with you," he quickly orders. "I'll have Mrs. Jones do it."

 _He can't be serious._

"Nonsense. I won't have that sweet lady handling my dirty laundry," I scold.

"She handles _my_ dirty laundry. It's nothing for her to take care of yours."

I somehow take that statement to mean something entirely different, but then I shake away the thought.

 _Hey – if you were to move in together after graduation, wouldn't Mrs. Jones take care of your laundry anyways?_

I quickly dismiss that thought, too.

 _You're getting way ahead of yourself, Steele._

"Well fortunately, I'm on my final two loads, so there's no need to involve Mrs. Jones. But thank you."

"Very well," he sighs, "but you still didn't answer my question. Are you coming tonight, or not?"

I just love stringing him along.  
It's fun.

"I don't know. I mean, would you like me to?" I say, pretending to be coy.

"More than anything," he says softly, and oh so sexy.

 _Oh, my._ I can feel my unmentionables pulsating right as we speak.

"Okay," I whisper back, just a tad bit shaken.

"Good. I'll pick you up. I hope that you rested well in Montesano, because I don't foresee much sleep in the near future for you."

 _Holy fuck._

The junction between my thighs clinches.

"By the way, I haven't danced since I've been gone, so I might be a little rusty," I say in warning.

"I'm not worried about that. You always end up finding your groove. I can't _wait_ to see you, baby."

Good lord, this man totally slays me.

"Be ready tonight at six," he says. "I'll pick you up and we'll take my helicopter over to my place."

 _Nice_ – I'll finally get a helicopter ride tonight.  
 _Among other things._

"Sounds good," I respond, breathless.

After I hang up with Christian, I make haste in calling Joy.

Thank God, she answers.

….

My eyes are straining as I stare out into the gorgeous Seattle landscape after dark. It's astonishing. Every so often, Christian turns his head and catches me in awe. He smiles just like a proud schoolboy, basking in my elation.

Is there anything this man can't do? Flying helicopters, running multi-billion-dollar businesses…

Not to mention his exceptional bedroom skills, which he's already warned me that I'd experience in excess. However, I don't think there's a such thing is _too much sex_ with Christian.

We land on top of his apartment building and then take the elevator down into his apartment. It's just as immaculate as it was when I last saw it. Without saying a word, he hands my roller bag to Taylor, and then Taylor takes it upstairs.

"I thought I told you not to pack anything," he lightly scolds as we stand toe to toe in the great room. He smoothes down my hair.

"I know, but I wanted to bring my laptop and a few other things," I explain.

"I see," he nods. With his hands on either side of my head, he places a sweet kiss on my lips. "Dinner will be ready shortly. Did you enjoy the ride here?"

"It was wonderful. Thank you for that," I beam. He fights back a grin and kisses me softly once more.

With hope in his eyes and a loving smirk on his lips, he says, "I'm so glad you're here. I needed you to come here and see for yourself how good it can be with us once you move to Seattle late next spring."

 _Does he plan for us to go out on some dates while I'm here?  
Any cool New Year's Eve parties lined up?_

It would be amazing for us to finally prance around town arm in arm just like a real couple.

I look behind Christian, taking in my surroundings. It's a little strange being here without Kate this time around. Interrupting my train of thought, he pulls me in once more, but for a much longer kiss. I could just melt right here.

"I'm so pleased to have you here," he murmurs. "We will take it slow, of course. However, by the end of your stay, I would like to explore my playroom with you. I want you to see how delightful it can be."

As his lips kiss mine again, my heart sinks.

 _His playroom?  
Is that what this is really all about?_

 _His playroom? 'Delightful'?_ I highly doubt that. When I imagine S&M, I don't necessarily think of _romance_. I truly wanted to experience a romantic time with him this time around.

 _Finally._

But I can't deny that his wild ways with me have set my soul on fire. I couldn't completely eliminate experiencing that side of him. It's part of the whole Christian Grey experience.

The second I get out of my head and hone in on his steady gray eyes, he looks pensive.

 _Shit, he's reading me like a book._

"Anastasia. There's no rush. I promise," he utters.

I sigh deeply in relief.

….

 _No rush?_

 _Yeah, right._

During the second-floor tour of his massive penthouse, he sticks a fancy key into a particular door. This is the first time I've seen him use a key tonight, therefore I immediately know where we're headed into. Before he twists the knob and opens the door, he prefaces what's inside.

"I just want you to take in the surroundings. Ask questions. I no longer want you to think intimidating thoughts about this room. There's nothing to be afraid of. Think of this room more as _freedom_ , and not _bondage_."

Freedom for _you_ , maybe.

As we walk inside together hand in hand, the lights slide on and I am speechless.

 _It's very red in here._

It looks like some fancy Victorian torture chamber. There's a bed, a chesterfield, benches, chests, shelves. Things hanging… _everywhere_. It's beyond intimidating.

Slowly, I begin to roam the overwhelming space, and I wonder how in the hell am I going to contend with _this man_ and _this room_. I absolutely don't see how.

"Ana…you're quiet," he says.

"I know," I confirm. "This is certainly a lot to take it."

"I understand," he says softly while stroking my hair. "It's very overwhelming at first. But think of it this way: How do you eat an elephant?"

"I don't," I snip.

He chuckles. "One bite at a time, baby. It's all about testing limits in here. If there's something that we do that you don't like, you can stop it immediately. You have all the power, Anastasia."

If that's really the case, then why do I feel so _powerless_ in here?

Or is it that I feel powerless with _him_?

He takes both hands and cups my face, forcing me to look him in the eyes.

"You have questions. Please…ask them," he implores.

We spend the next forty minutes on some good old fashioned _BDSM Q &A_.

….

At the end of the tour, Christian leads me over to a quaint looking bedroom, and I see my roller bag standing up in the corner.

Wow, I never imagined his bedroom looking like this. It has… _a woman's touch_?

"And this is your bedroom," he announces.

 _Huh?  
Now, wait a minute._

" _Um_ …this isn't _your_ room?"

"No," he answers plainly. "This will be your room whenever you decide to stay with me. My room is downstairs."

I gape at him.

 _But he said that he's my boyfriend.  
So why are we sleeping in separate rooms on separate floors?_

So many things are running through my head right now as he rambles on about me having a full wardrobe in the closet, among other things. I also hear something about changing the walls if I don't like the color. He's talking, but my mind is completely someplace else.

 _You shouldn't be surprised that you're not sleeping with him. You knew the deal. This is the same exact man who continues to abandon you at the hotel each morning._

As my chest continues to crunch, I decide not to bring up my disdain once more about him taking off on me every morning. However, I need to know why I have my own _bedroom_. Something tells me that I'm not the first person to have this room.

"Is there anything in this room left over from the last _'complicated'_ relationship you had?"

My words surprise both him and me. He steps away from the massive open closet, now with a white garment bag hanging across his arm and re-approaches me.

"No." He has the nerve to look highly offended when he says it. Hell, he's the one with a wild penchant for BDSM, and then can't sleep with a woman after sex, therefore putting them up in a separate room as he goes elsewhere.

"I got you something for Christmas, but I didn't have an opportunity to give it to you before you left town," he says, now handing me the bag.

I gape at him. "You didn't have to get me anything. _I_ …I didn't get you anything."

"My gift is standing right here in front of me," he croons, totally forgetting my snarky remark from moments ago. "Thank you so much, baby for coming here."

 _Why does he do this?_

 _Why can't I ever stay mad at him?_

With the garment bag now in my hands, he pulls me in for a passionate smooch. I'm practically floating.

"I'll let you open that," he says soon after we pull apart. "I have to take care of a few things in my study before our late dinner."

"Okay," I breathe.

He smoothes down my hair, kisses me on the forehead, and then walks out.

A few moments later, I'm sitting on the bed admiring the beautiful silver gown lying flat beside me.

 _Maybe he is planning on taking me out New Year's Eve._

Still, a massive cloud of doubt lingers over me. Can I really get this man to change the way things are between us during my stay? I see that he's trying. I mean, there was the intimate lunch on campus. If anything, I was the one pushing back at the time. But I can't help but feel that he's holding back on me, too.

My only barrier to cross is Kate, being that my parents both know about Christian. I finally need to tell her that I've been seeing him. I'm sick of hiding _us_. I'll have to just hype myself up in order to have the tough discussion with her. I have no doubt that she'll be pissed at me for keeping this a secret from her. What'll be even worse is if she discovers that she's the absolute last person to find out about Christian. That would truly crush her.

However, what Kate fails to understand is that she's extremely difficult to talk to, especially if she doesn't agree with something that I'm doing. I also know that she's going to come down on me for messing around with a benefactor of our school.

But if I expect Christian to change his _creeping-out-in-the-morning_ ways, I must be willing to come out to Kate, or else I'll be a hypocrite.

While I'm here in Christian's home, I want him to realize that I desire more than just mind-blowing sex. Undeniably, this will be a make or break week for us. My time here will determine if I should sign a new client/talent agreement with him on January 1st.

Or should we perhaps just do away with that contract altogether and just… _be_?

A real couple without any rules?

Yeah, I'd like that.

….

Just after dinner, Christian gets a call that he has to handle in his study. Since he was taking nearly forever, I decided to go back upstairs to my room and get to know my new space a little better.

Speaking of…I found it rather odd that he didn't show me _his room_ during our tour.

In my sleeping quarters, I parse the insane wardrobe in the closet as well as all of the items in all of the drawers, taking in the ridiculousness of it all. It's insane how much money this man has spent on me.

Exhausted by the notion, I found myself laying down on the duvet.

Soon, I black out.

Sometime later, I wake up to a very faint sound of music.

 _The piano. Is he playing it?_

I roll out of bed and soon I'm slowly descending down the winding staircase as the sight of Christian tickling the ivories gradually comes into view. When I reach the bottom, I make certain that my bare footfalls don't disturb his playing. The song is absolutely beautiful. And needless to say, he's definitely a vision of handsomeness playing it.

He's still dressed in his navy work slacks, but his white dress shirt is buttoned down to expose that tantalizing island of chest hair that I've become so fond of. _I'd love to kiss it one of these days._

It takes me seemingly forever to make it over to his side. Just as he ends the song, he turns and sees me standing there, and reacts as though he knew that I was here all along. My breath catches in my throat.

"That was amazing. What was that?" my voice strains to say through the lump.

"The aria of Goldberg Variations," he says matter-of-factly.

 _Holy hell…there's truly nothing that this man can't do._

I'm awestruck.

"You play beautifully. How long have you've been playing?" I ask quietly.

"Since I was a little boy. All of the Grey children had to learn an instrument and a sport. With me, it was piano, kickboxing, baseball, and rowing."

"By the way, that's _three_ sports," I chuckle. "That's amazing," I add, gushing. However, Christian doesn't flinch. "I wished I knew how to play an instrument. All I know is _books_."

" _And_ dancing…" he says with a smirk. He slides over to the side of the bench and then pats down the now empty space with his hand. I sit beside him and he pulls me into his side.

"And dancing," I echo back, smiling. "I'm still learning."

"You are masterful, Anastasia," I gaze into his affectionate gray eyes. "I'm so happy you're here," he expresses for the _umpteenth_ time, before giving my lips a peck.

"Me too," I hum in response after our kiss. He kisses me once more. Suddenly, he shifts, then stands to his feet. I blink at the sudden move.

"I need to shower," he announces.

"Alright," I say, now standing with him. As I turn in the opposite direction, he grabs my arm firmly.

"Where do you think you're going?" he says with a mischievous smirk.

Soon, I finally get my wish to see Christian's massive bedroom, which is more like a _man's_ bedroom than the one that I'm in. However, my visit there is short lived.

Twenty minutes later, we're in his _insane_ master bath inside of his _ridiculous_ shower, and he's fucking me hard against the wall as the waters cascade all around us through the multiple showerheads.

….

I always found it difficult to sleep in new surroundings. So, after failing to fall asleep in what will be my bed for the next six or so nights, I gave up and decided to open up my MacBook and sort out my emails.

I'm lying on my stomach in flannel pajama shorts and a red camisole top when Christian softly knocks and then breezes into _'my bedroom'_ shirtless and in gray flannel pants.

 _Holy shit._ Even though we were going at it like wild animals in his shower not so long ago, just the sight of his chiseled torso makes me still want to do bad, _bad_ things to him.

"Sorry, I saw that the light was on in here," he says with a smirk. I nod with a straight face. "Is everything okay?"

"It's fine," I respond. "I thought I'd arrange my emails."

"Couldn't sleep?" he says as he sits on the bed right beside me, and his fingers soon find my hair. He smoothes it back once and then plants a kiss right on my crown.

All of a sudden, I feel a wave of bravery rising up inside of me. I know that if I don't speak up now, I may never have the courage to do it again.

"I was just wondering why _I'm_ in here, and _you're_ downstairs. Why can't I sleep with you in your room?"

As soon as the words tumble out of my mouth, I can feel the chill radiating from him. I don't know if it's anger…or fear. It's unnerving.

"Anastasia, I told you that my bedroom is _mine_ and that it's off limits. It's best that you and I maintain our separate sleeping quarters. Trust me, you'll prefer it that way, especially after you and I get done explore my playroom together."

I snap.

"Your _playroom_? Does it always come back to that? Is that the only reason why I'm here?" I can feel the heat emanating from my face.

"No," he sighs, and the fear is now evident in his face. He begins stroking my hair. "If the playroom is an issue for you, we can steer clear from there if you'd like. Well…at least until you're a little more comfortable with the idea."

Oh. My. God. Talking to him is worse than talking to a brick wall. He hasn't comprehended a single fucking word I said. He turns into some twisted zombie whenever the idea of his playroom comes up. I'm almost afraid that if I refuse to go, he may drag me in there.

I attempt to reject the very thought of that happening. Suddenly, I get a brand new thought.  
A compromise, if you will.

"I _may_ consider going into your playroom... _if_ you let me sleep with you in your bed one day this week."

Christian's eyes grow big and wide and his skin practically turns white.

"Absolutely not."

 _Huh?_ I gape right back at him.

"I've _never_ brought a woman in my room," he says, completing his thought.

I try to get upset, but the sheer fear in his eyes lets me know that this issue of sleeping with me is way deeper than I think. I shudder.

 _What happened to him?_

I'm afraid to ask. Instead, I try my best to change the subject. I don't ever want to see this lost look on his face again.

"It's fine," I say, quickly brushing it off. "Hey…don't you have to be at work in the morning?"

"No," he responds, brusque. _Geez, Grey, simmer down._ "I'm not going anywhere since I have you with me this week. If I need to do any work, I'll handle it in my study. Otherwise, my entire company has reduced holiday hours until after New Year's."

Talking about work usually puts him in a better mood, so I can see the dark cloud slowly lifting. The mention of the word _'holiday'_ suddenly gives me a thought.

"Oh, I _did_ actually bring you a gift. I totally forgot that I had it," I smirk.

He looks at me with amusement "Oh? Courtesy of Miss Joy?"

Gosh, he's no fun at all. It's as if he knows everything there is to know about me.

"Yes," I say shyly. Without further chit-chat, I climb out of bed, journey into the chest of drawers, and pull out the small purple cloth bag that I unpacked earlier. I then walk back to the bed and hand it to him.

"Merry Christmas," I say with a shy smile.

His boyish looks make me giddy as he pulls the drawstring and opens the bag, slowly revealing a black c-ring and some edible lubricant.

"Huh," he assesses, biting his bottom lip. "We can most certainly put this to good use, although I'll be using the edible lube on _you_. Unless…you'd like a small taste," he teases. As I stand in between his legs, he places the gifts down and then wraps his arms around my thighs.

"I was hoping that I would be able to sample it for myself," I murmur.

"We can arrange that, Miss Steele," he utters with smoky gray eyes. "By the way, I'm giving Mrs. Jones and Taylor off until Wednesday night. What say you, Miss Steele, to turning this apartment upside down in the meanwhile – starting with this room?"

Before he leaves this room for the night, we practically go through half of the three-ounce tube of edible lube.

….

The very next morning after breakfast, Christian's fucking me up against the breakfast bar. As I'm at the tail end of my second orgasm, he pulls out of me, flips me around, brings me down to my knees, and comes all over my naked breasts.

 _Oh my…_

 _He finally did it._

I look up at him, flashing him an erotic smirk as I stare into his eyes, rubbing the manifestation of his orgasm into my breasts like lotion.

"Oh Miss Steele, you are a goddess," he gasps, licking his lips as he stares down at me.

….

Later that day, he's fucking me hard from behind against the wooden desk in his study. As I scream out my orgasm, I feel it as he pulls out of me and then spills himself onto my ass.

 _Oh my god!_

I am burning up inside.

"Do you like that, Anastasia."

" _Mm hmm_ ," I moan.

 _Oh, fuck yes._

"Baby, I love that you keep your pussy so tight for me," he groans, as he continues let go onto my backside.

 _Holy shit, why does his dirty talk make me want to explode all over again?_

"I want to send Miss Joy a basket of flowers for teaching you so well."

In spite of my current precarious position against the table, I can't help but laugh at that.

….

I awaken from sleep just after midnight, thanks to my bladder.

I'm exhausted after today's excursions. In addition to lots of sex, the night included a hard-hitting seductive dance number in the great room to Goldfrapp's _Strict Machine_. For the contemporary dance, I decided on the violet tulle push-up La Perla body suit with matching maxi skirt that features ruffles and elegant emerald trim.

 _Too bad Mr. Grey didn't let me keep on the outfit for very long._

The second I turn off the faucet in the en suite bathroom after washing my hands, I hear a faint melody playing out from a distance.

 _He's back on the piano again._

For the second straight night, I slowly descend down the stairs. Tonight, he's playing a more somber melody. I get down just enough to be able to see him while he's playing. I don't leave the stairs. He looks entranced, and I don't want to break him from his spell. His face, expressionless, but his body and his hands continue to tell the story about a man who's conflicted.

 _I wonder what's on his mind?_

By the third song, I'm exhausted. I quietly creep up the stairs and back into my room before climbing into bed.

* * *

CHRISTIAN

I knew she was hovering over the stairs.

I was rather surprised that she didn't complete her descent as she did last night. Instead, she turned around and went right back to bed.

Like her, I couldn't sleep. My nightmares have returned in full force, and I don't know why. I also don't know why I thought that having her here would change anything. I'm even more afraid to test out the theory of us sleeping together.

After playing the fifth song on my grand piano, I close the fallboard and carefully go up the steps to check on Anastasia. This time, I don't see any form of light shining from underneath her door. As I turn to go back downstairs, a thought enters my head.

 _"_ _I'd like to open my eyes and realize that it was you who fucked me awake."_

The memory of her words tickle my spine.

 _Should I?_

We've been fucking like crazy since she arrived on Monday.  
Now, it's barely Wednesday morning.

 _Maybe a different night_ – I think to myself. _She's probably exhausted._ But as I approach the stairs to go back down them, I feel some sort of magnetic energy pulling me back towards Miss Steele's room.

 _It's now or never, Grey._

I place my hand on her doorknob, and slowly twist.

Soon, I'm in her bedroom and carefully climbing into bed with her as she's dead to the world.

I always loved watching her sleep. She looks so angelic. So pure. It's that same look that I hate to leave every time I get out of bed with her at The Heathman.

Slowly, I pull back the covers and immediately spot the swells of her breast peeking through her tan camisole. I pull the covers down further and admire her exposed hipbones peering out of her short pink shorts.

 _I would love to see her sleeping in the lingerie that I bought her.  
I wished she put the purple bodysuit back on after I removed it earlier._

I run my fingers down the exposed skin just above the elastic of her shorts. She doesn't move a muscle.

 _Holy shit.  
This is it._

I lean in and kiss the swells of her breasts. She makes a slight shift, but doesn't wake up.

I pull up her camisole to her neck and kiss her navel, her rib cage. Soon, I'm taking one of her nipples inside of my mouth, and her breathing changes, setting me ablaze.

 _Sweet lord._

I get lost, kissing her everywhere I can. When I move down to her shorts, I carefully peel them all the way off along with her panties. I test the waters with my fingers, and she's good enough for what I need to do. I hum in satisfaction before I remove my pajama pants and boxers.

I carefully position myself right between her creamy white thighs. Her eyes are still closed.

"Wake up, Anastasia," I whisper, before slowly placing the tip of my erection at her soft opening. After staring at her beautiful sleeping face for a few beats, I slowly push inside of her. I groan.

She shifts and moans, but her eyelids remain sealed.

 _Fuck_ – this is _so_ hot, and she feels _so_ good.

I am lost in her as I start to move just a little bit faster. I don't realize that she's finally awake, until…

" _Oh_ …" she gasps, her mouth stuck in place after she makes the sound.

"Oh yeah, baby. I told you that I would make your fantasies come true," I whisper. I thrust harder and she cries out. "Fuck yeah…you feel so good like this, baby. All fresh and sweet…just for me…"

"Christian! _Ohhh_ …"

"I love it when you call my name," I gasp as I climb inside of her. "I'm so glad you're mine."

I can feel her insides beginning to pulsate all around me. It doesn't dawn on me right away that her hands are caressing me all over my back and ass. Any other time, I'd have her hands bound or placed above her head. But she and I are so _in-the-moment_ that I don't even care.

Soon, she's detonating all around me.

"I need you to do that for me one more time, baby," I whisper in her ear as I refuse to relent on my pace.

Holy hell, is she amazing.

* * *

ANA

I don't know if I dreamed about what happened either late last night or early this morning, but the fact remains that I wake up in bed…alone.

Even if it was a dream, I can still feel his presence in my sex. Granted, we've been engaging in sex for most of the night, so that could just be the aftershock of what took place earlier. But this time it feels different. Recent.

What's the dead giveaway is his undeniable scent present in my sheets. I'm torn – happy that he fulfilled a fantasy of mine, but disappointed that he decided not to stay in bed with me.

Soon after crawling out of bed, I get a text from Christian letting me know that he's warmed up breakfast. I laugh. Bless Mrs. Jones for leaving enough leftovers for her culinary-challenged boss. I told him that I'd be happy to cook something fresh for us, but maybe he got hungry early.

...

Just before we finish breakfast, I'm gaping at him in total shock.

 _I can't believe he just said that._

"Normally I'd have any potential submissives sign a special NDA before showing them to my playroom, but we've already eclipsed the _normal scenario_. Our _private dance_ arrangement has put us in a very unique situation," he says, speaking as if this is still a business relationship, and _not_ the boyfriend/girlfriend relationship that I began to think that it was.

 _What the fuck – this man is giving me whiplash._

"I trust that whatever takes place in the playroom once we get there won't be shared with anyone," he concludes.

I gape at him, completely flabbergasted.

 _Are you_ _ **hearing**_ _yourself, Grey?!_

I don't feel like reminding him of what he said about being my _boyfriend_. Real boyfriends don't say crazy shit like this. I knew that there was something very weird about this man from the very first time I met him.

First, it started with the _no-touching_ thing.  
Then there's the _no-sleeping_ thing.

And _now_ , I'm being badgered over the head with this _playroom thing_.

"Look, I know it's a lot to take in."

"You're fucking right it is," I snap.

He softens his expression even more. " _Look_ …you don't have to do this. I'm just letting you know what I'm into. Granted, I've been having a wonderful time doing what we've been doing these past couple of months. Like I said earlier, if you're not comfortable with my lifestyle, I guess we can just keep on doing what we've been doing at The Heathman until either you or I don't want to do it anymore."

 _Gee, thanks._

I'm certainly not in the mood for this bullshit. I was perfectly fine with the way things were, except for hoping for a few minor adjustments. However, after hearing him harp about his _'lifestyle'_ , I'm very worried that _normal sex_ will never be enough for this crazy man.

In the meantime, I can't stop my heart from falling in love with him.

 _I may be too far gone at this point._

The very thought is devastating.

"At any case, I need you to assure me that there will be no one else, Anastasia."

I blink, completely put off by him. "What do you mean? I told you, I haven't told anyone about your _lifestyle_ …"

"No," he cuts me off, "I mean no other _men_. We're supposed to be monogamous. I need you to understand that."

 _I know that! You fucking wrote that into the stupid contract, you dodo…_

 _Where is this coming from, anyway?_

I am stunned as I look at him and he glares back at me as if I'm totally missing his point. Can he blame me? We've gone from him telling me that he can make concessions if I can't _hang_ with him in his playroom, to _'Hey, by the way, don't you be fucking nobody else…m'kay?'_

Is this dude bipolar, schizophrenic, or _what_?

"I'm not seeing anyone else," I say slowly and curtly. My irritation is beyond evident.

"I'm a very jealous man, Anastasia. I've told you this time and time again."

 _Yeah, yeah…whatever._

 _And you're a very cold man, too._

Once more, his demeanor shifts and he's back to stroking my hair again.

"I can't wait until you move here from Vancouver, so we can be together for longer than a day or two each week," he says quietly. "Granted, I'll still be very busy during the week when you move to Seattle, but I'd be able to see you more often than just the weekends."

If he'd said those very same words to me prior to this week, I would've been on cloud nine. My first thought would've been – _He genuinely cares for me_.

But now, all I can see is him urging me to go into his playroom so he can have his way with me. I really wished I had the will to give him exactly what he wants. Hey, I'm sure I'll end up liking it if I do it enough. However, I can't bring myself to think that way right now.

I want to know if I'm enough for him. I don't want our _'relationship'_ to be all about my ability to dance along with my willingness to partake in some _strange sex_ inside of his dungeon.

And as I toil back and forth internally over this man, I keep thinking back to something that Joy said to me.

 _"_ _Don't be afraid to pull back if something doesn't feel right."_

….

Mrs. Jones retuned back to work sometime after lunch, and she immediately got a jump on dinner after settling in. As I sit by the fireplace reading a book, Christian finally surfaces from his study.

"Hey," he says, kissing me on the forehead.

"Hey."

"I was thinking that you and I should dress formally for dinner tonight," he grins "I'd really like to see you in the silver V-neck gown that I got you for Christmas."

I smile back at him. "Oh?"

However, part of me feels a little disappointed that I'll only be wearing that dress inside of this apartment. I was hoping that we'd go out at some point.

He nods and then pulls up my chin to kiss me on the mouth.

We meet back in the great room an hour later, and I'm astounded when I find Christian wearing a sharp black tuxedo.

 _Holy shit, is he hot._

"Anastasia… _wow_ ," he gasps in wonder. He takes me by the hand, pulls me close, and kisses me on the cheek.

For some reason, I'm still hopeful that he's taking me out somewhere, but then I turn and see Mrs. Jones from across the way, diligently working to finish up dinner.

 _I long to be the one and only girl under his arm for the entire world to see._

As he takes me by the hand and leads me over to the dining room, I sag in disappointment. However, the lovely sight that we embark upon in the dining room, a candlelight setup for two, almost cheers me back up.

"Mr. Grey, Ana," Mrs. Jones greets as she appears behind us.

"Thank you, Gail," Christian says as he pulls out my chair. I take a seat.

"You look so beautiful, Ana," Mrs. Jones praises.

"She most certainly does," Christian proudly interjects. I can feel my skin turning pink.

"Thank you, Mrs. Jones," I say shyly.

"Hey, what am I? Chopped liver?" Christian says, feigning insulted.

Mrs. Jones quietly laughs as she zips out of the dining room, presumably to bring in the first course.

"You know, chopper liver is very rich in iron and vitamin B," I quip.

"So, it is," Christian smirks. "Therefore, its nutritional value should not be ignored when it so happens to complement you on how beautiful you look tonight." I giggle. "Tonight, and every night, for that matter," he adds.

"In all fairness, I thanked you the first time you complemented me on the dress that _you_ bought me for Christmas. I think it's only fair for me to get in at least one _'thank you'_ to Mrs. Jones as well."

"You just emphasized that I bought you that dress. Are you implying that I'm only complementing you in it because I bought it?" he says, teasing me in make-believe scandal.

"Well maybe I'm only implying that you are extra complementary simply because you bought this dress," I lob right back.

"Hey, I'll have you know Miss Steele that I'd complement you just the same if you were wearing a potato sack and a baseball cap."

I explode in laughter. "Perhaps I'll wear that for my next dance."

"Very well." I can tell that he's fighting back his own laugh. "What would the song choice be for that particular costume?"

" _Hmm_ ," I actually contemplate. " _Livin' on a Prayer_? Or _Coal Miner's Daughter_?"

He chuckles. " _How about Potato Girl_?"

I snort, "Come on…that's not a real song."

"It most certainly is," he says with a straight face. "It's by _Our Lady Peace_. It's a great song, by the way."

" _Who_?" I squint, feeling totally out of loop.

" _Clumsy_? _Superman's Dead_? They were a popular Canadian alt rock group from the 90's."

I shrug my shoulders. "I have no idea who they are."

"And I'm old," he says with pursed lips.

" _Stop_ …no you're not," I giggle.

"Okay…what about _Somewhere Out There_? Do you know that one?"

" _Hmm_ …I might know that one," I ponder. I start to hum the theme song from the animated film, _An American Tail_. Poorly, might I add.

"No, no…not that one," he says, cutting me off mid hum. Suddenly, he starts singing lyrics to song a about a lost love, and I get lost in not only the words, but in _him_.

 _Holy fucking shit…the man sings like an angel, too?!_

Suddenly, it clicks.

"Oh yeah! I know that one!"

"I thought you would," he beams at me. "That's by _Our Lady Peace_."

I almost regret stopping him mid-song. I'd love to ask him to sing the rest, but I'm pretty sure he wouldn't want to be put on the spot.

Over dinner, I'm thoroughly surprised that Christian and I fall right back into our usual witty banter. He's not pestering me about the playroom, nor am I'm nagging him about not sleeping with me after sex.

For just a moment in time, we are _us_ again.

"I hope you've been enjoying your stay so far, Miss Steele," he says with a warm smile.

Even though I've been having reservations over a couple of things, overall, I've been enjoying my time with the enigmatic megalomaniac.

"I have."

"Good."

By the time we get to dessert and tea/coffee, Christian thanks Mrs. Jones and gives her the rest of the night off. She nods, thanking him and vows to leave right after the last of the dishes are done.

As soon as Mrs. Jones takes away the last bit of the divine cheesecake on my plate that I absolutely couldn't get down, Christian stands and extends his hand out to me. Immediately, I get nervous.

 _I wonder if he's dragging me into his sex dungeon._

I decide to trust him and take his offered hand. To my surprise, he leads me into the great room. As we stand in the middle of the floor, he raises a hand at me, gesturing me to stay put. I do as he dashes over to the edge of the room and turns on the receiver.

Soon, the satin crooning of Dean Martin fills the room.  
 _Ray loves this song.  
_ Christian quickly rejoins me in the center of the room.

I gape at him. "You want me to dance to _Volare_ tonight?"

He beams at me. "No. I want _us_ to dance to _Volare_ tonight."

 _Oh, my._

Christian promptly takes my hand with one of his and then wraps the other around my waist before he leads me across the floor just like Fred Astaire. I feel like I'm dancing on a cloud with him. The way he moves is indescribable. In between turns, he sneaks in a kiss…whether it be on my hand, my forehead, my cheek, or my lips. He doesn't cease to leave me breathless.

I can't help but feel that this dance with him is more intimate than anything else that we've ever done together. Slowly, I sense a mountain of emotions building up inside of me. I feel liberated enough to finally make a declaration in my own consciousness.

 _I surrender._

 _I am truly, madly, deeply in love with this man…and there is no undoing it._

The dancing doesn't stop when the song ends. Soon, we're, gliding together to _You're Nobody till Somebody Loves You_.

 _Boy, ain't that the truth._

He's twirls me around and then pulls me into his arms so smoothly. I'd always known that he was a gifted dancer by the way he moved with me as I grinded against his lap in our _not-so_ private session at Zion. And then there was the very first night that I danced for him, when he guided me on how to completely get lost in the rhythm and to never second guess myself.

But until now, we've never really danced cheek to cheek like this. We've never practiced together, but we move in harmony as if we've been doing this as a couple for _years_. Hell, I didn't know that I could dance three months ago, but as he and I traverse the floor of the great room together like a prize-winning competitive dance duo, it's as if we were made to do this only with each other.

When my eyes meet his, I feel much lighter on my feet. The sweet smirk on his lips just sends me soaring. Christian Grey is _all man_ while still having this very soft spot that oozes out of him from time to time. It's beyond refreshing to witness.

By song three, we are kissing deeply. As _I Only Have Eyes For You_ plays softly in the background, Christian leads me over to the nearest sofa where he sits down first. Taking my hand, I soon find myself straddling him.

After some very heavy making out and touching, he lifts me up and then hitches up my gown. I'm panting deep with desire. He then shimmies out of his dress slacks and whispers, " _Come here._ " His exposed erection is just as willing and ready as I am, so I do not hesitate. However, he holds up his hand to halt me and then pulls up my dress even further. Soon, I can feel him kissing up my thighs to my belly. I gasp. Then he pushes my lace panties over to the side and begins to explore across my bare slit. I gasp, and he moans. Slowly with his hands still holding my underwear over to the side, he eases me onto his erection.

" _Ahhh_!" I cry out. He moans in deep satisfaction.

As I start to ride him on the sofa, I can't get over how deep he feels. I swear that I can feel him all the way up inside my belly…not just physically, but emotionally. And with his burning gray eyes lasering into mine, I doesn't think that I can take this for much longer.

Don't get me wrong, I've ridden him after dancing many times before. However, it has _never_ felt like this. _Ever_.

The song fades away, but there is nothing else that follows it. He obviously only intended for us to dance three songs.

Suddenly, I start to feel naked and exposed as he stares up at me, focusing on me and only me in the silence. Just as I'm getting used to him being the one in the spotlight whenever we have sex, the tide has shifted. My greatest fear right now is that I look like a complete idiot, just as I did when I first tried to dance for him.

He immediately takes notice of my emotional shift.

"Baby…you can do this," he whispers in sweet reassurance. "Remember what I taught you when you danced for me the first time," he grins.

And he brings it up. I feel like hiding away as I recollect the extremely embarrassing moment all over again.

"Just ride the beat in your mind. Rise and fall with the rhythm," he gasps. "You can do that better than anyone I know."

My god, he hurts _so good_ inside of me. I want to do this well. I want him to have this.

 _I_ want this.

Out of nowhere, the melody of Rihanna's _Rude Boy_ pops into mind. A shiver moves up my spine and I go. I start to move.

The song overtakes my brain as I gyrate my hips on top of his with a slight pull and push to the rhythm. I'm rotating myself seductively to the silent boom of the Caribbean synths. His hands clasp each of my hipbones and simply ride my wave. My inner goddess reigns.

 _Take it_ – the song playing in my head implores.

An " _Oh_ " suddenly escapes my lips.

 _Please, Christian…take it.  
Take all of me._

Then something else in me snaps and I go completely wild.  
I'm almost at the brink.

"Ana… _shit_ …" he grunts under me. "Baby, slow down."

But I can't. I am lost in the music.  
I am lost in _him_.

"Ana – _no_. You're going to make me come," he growls as his fingers dig deep into my sides.

 _Oh yes…please do._

 _I want to look down and see ecstasy on your face.  
I want to know that I can do the same to you as you've done to me. _

And just the thought of him losing it sends me into a tailspin.

"Fuck!" he roars as he sinks his paws deeper into my skin. Watching him lose it makes me come so hard.

" _Ahhhh_ …." I sound off; my voice, tapering off.

I collapse on top of him and his arms clasps around me, holding me prisoner as I continue to quake all around him, _over_ and _over_ and over again.

He then lifts me up, pulling himself out of me before pushing me until my back hits the sofa and my head touches the soft armrest. He now rocks up on his knees and hovers over me like an erotic emperor. His gray eyes ignite like fire. I feel two of his fingers gliding across the outer folds of my sex. His slickness mixed with mine spreads across the surface like a balm as I whelp. I watch as he takes that same shimmering hand, grabs ahold of his erection, and slides back into me while I'm still mid-orgasm.

" _Ah!_ " I cry out.

Having no mercy whatsoever – _he just came inside of me for fuck's sake_ – he's pounding away as if nothing happened.

"Oh, fuck yeah," he groans as I cry out underneath him.

"Mine," he growls during his sensual possession.  
"This is _all mine_ , Anastasia."

 _Jesus…this man is a beast in a tuxedo._

I am trembling.

I've heard stories from girlfriends who've said that the night's over once the guy blows his load. No way. Not _this_ man. He's like the Energizer Bunny. He just keeps fucking, and fucking, and fucking me until I lose it all over again.

" _Ahhh…Christian!_ "

I'm quaking even more than before. I eventually feel him still inside of me. He comes again, too. It's not until I fall down from my peak, and he's sliding out of me and kissing me all over my neck as I call him by his first name over and over again. I remember a time when that didn't happen. I only called him _Mr. Grey_.

My, how times have changed.

I'm certain that this beautiful dress is a complete mess. I'd hate to be the dry cleaner that had to deal with this. I'm almost tempted to just trash it, but I'm afraid to discover afterwards how much Christian paid for it.

….

Later in my bed, Christian and I lie naked together as we simmer during another round of post-coital bliss.

"Have any of your submissives ever called you by your first name?" I ask quietly. He looks down at me as my head is placed just below his shoulder.

"No."

"What makes me different?" I ask.

"You are not my submissive, Anastasia. You're my lover," he says.

 _Holy cow._

I prop myself up on one elbow so that I can get a better look at him.

"Am I?"

"Yes," he says resoundingly. "You are."

Soon, I'm descending on him and kissing his beautiful mouth like there's no tomorrow.

….

I knew that it was too good to be true.

After our glorious night of dancing and lovemaking, Christian presses the issue of the playroom once more while we're in the kitchen finishing our lunch.

"Baby, we've already done so much together as it is. Aren't you curious about what we can do in there?"

I sigh. "A little bit."

I see a tiny spark ignite in his eyes. "Can we go in there now? I'd like to teach you a few things."

My eyes narrow. "Like what?"

"Turn around," he suddenly orders.

I gape at him, but he doesn't waver. Soon, I comply and spin on my heel until my back faces him _. He's going to braid my hair again_ – I smile to myself. And he does. As soon as he's done, and I turn back around, I notice an immediate shift in his demeanor. He's always been strong and confident, but right now – he's a man who's strong and confident with _zero_ emotion. I'm shook.

"In twenty minutes, I need you to wait inside of the playroom ten feet away from the door, with your back facing it. You will need to be in the kneeling stance that I showed you – palms flat on your thighs, and eyes to the floor."

I gape at him, but he continues.

"I don't want you wearing anything but lingerie, which there is an assortment of in your bedroom. I'll let you choose. Just make sure it's something that you know will please me."

My heart is racing. I'm not sure if I really want to get to know _Christian the Dom_ , but I completely understand that getting to know this side of him is inevitable. I knew this ever since he admitted to me at Zion about what that woman in a suit said about him.

This is why Christian wanted me here. And if I'm being completely honest with myself, I'm here because I wanted to get to know the _real him_.

He places his hands on my upper arms and looks me square in the eye.

"Remember the safe words that we talked about."

"Safe _words_?" I gasp. "I just know that _red_ means _stop_."

"Correct," he nods, "but there is also _yellow_. You say _yellow_ when you feel that you are getting close to your limit. That will alert me to ease up on you. However, _red_ is only used when you've absolutely reached your limit. Hopefully you'll never have to use that word. If you and I are communicating as we should, we'll never go past _yellow_."

I can feel myself start to quake. My fear is evident to him.

"Anastasia, you know that I would never intentionally hurt you."

I only stare at him like a lamb heading to slaughter.

"Ana?" he says, softly.

"Yes," I gasp. "I know."

"Good," he sighs in relief. "Now, the only thing I can promise you is that you will have the time of your life in there," he smirks.

Somehow, I don't fully agree with that statement.

"Just remember to only speak when you're granted permission, and you're to address me as ' _Sir_ ' or ' _Mr. Grey_ '."

I nod. "Got it."

 _Why do I get an eerie feeling that as soon as I step inside of that room, there's absolutely no turning back?_

….

I'm keeling on the cold wooden floor of Christian's playroom in nothing but a lacy black corset and matching panties as he slowly paces around me. I can hear him slapping the leather keeper of his riding crop in the palm of his hand. I'm both excited and nervous.

"Danseuse," he calls out.

"Sir." I keep my head down, but I cheat – glancing at his sexy bare feet as they pass me by.

"I've done my research," he starts, the keeper still slapping against his palm. "I know that Donny Suarez doesn't exist."

 _Holy shit._

A lump suddenly lodges in my throat.

 _He said that he wouldn't intentionally hurt me._

"I know that the guy that you introduced to me as your _schoolmate_ is really José Rodriguez. I also know that he and his father spent time with you and _your_ father during Christmas."

I'm in complete and utter shock.

"Sir, were you having me followed while I was back home with my father?" I murmur. He ignores my question.

"Why'd you lie to me, Danseuse? Why didn't you tell me the truth?" he says, the disdain evident in his tone.

I can't believe him. He knew the truth all this time, but still held it in until now. It's as if he intentionally waited and held back his anger until he was able to coax me into his playroom. I am stunned silent.

I feel deceived.

"Answer me," he demands.

I stammer in my speech, unable to gather any coherent thoughts and express them vocally. Soon, he whacks me across the shoulder with the crop, and I let out a loud gasp.

 _What the fuck?!_

 _Yellow!_

This whole thing is pure bullshit and there's no way out of this except by using the safe word. Maybe I should utter it, so that we can leave this scary place and have a relatively mature discussion out in the great room about his stalking ways and severe anger issues.

But I know the second that I drop the safe word, it's done. And when it's done, I don't know if he'll ever trust me to be able to ever handle his playroom again. He vowed before we came back in here that he'd never intentionally hurt me.

Let's see if he goes back on his word and takes it too far.

 _Hang in there, Ana. Stick to the rules while sticking to your guns._

"Sir, I was afraid that you might hurt him. We'd already resolved our past issue. He was drunk. _I_ was drunk. He apologized for months and tried to make it right. I forgave him."

" _I_ don't forgive him…"

I ignore his asinine statement as I continue speaking. "We're good friends. Our fathers are good friends. They were in the army together."

"But why didn't you tell me the truth, Danseuse?" he says with contempt-riddled eyes.

"Sir…why does it matter? It happened to _me_ , not you," I spit back, turning away from him.

He quickly gets down on his knees and props up my chin so that I'm forced to see him, but I keep my eyes down.

"Look at me, Danseuse." After a few beats, I slowly bring my eyes up to him, and the pained sight of him takes my breath away. "I'm yours…and you're mine. It is my responsibility as your _man_ …your _dom_ to take care of you. You took that opportunity away from me."

The sincere hurt radiating from his darkened gray irises pierces me right to the core.

" _Chri_ …Sir," I stumble, quickly correcting myself. "That happened _before_ us. It was _my_ fight, and I resolved it. I was hoping after the Jay Dark situation, you'd see that I was strong enough to handle certain things on my own."

His gray circles suddenly shift even further. "Baby, I know that you are strong. In fact, you are probably the strongest woman that I know." His gaze hardens. "But dammit, you are so fucking stubborn. That asshole tried to rape you, and who knows if he'd do it again if given the opportunity!"

"He _wouldn't_ …" Christian grips my chin even firmer between his fingertips, and I shudder. "… _Sir_ ," I say, quickly throwing it in there, afraid that I may have angered him for not following his torture room protocol.

 _Yellow!_

"I don't ever want to see you with him again," he says, stern and resolute.

" _But_ …"

"That is not a request, Danseuse. That's an order."

I close my eyes. "Sir…can we _please_ discuss the matter outside of this room? I don't feel that anything will get resolved in here."

"I've already said my piece. There is nothing that you can say that will ever change my mind about _José Rodriguez_." He says my friend's name with strong contempt. My eyes sink back down. " _But_ …I'll be willing to listen later."

The moment the words come out of his mouth, my eyes go back up to his.

He is stubborn as a mule, but I can't help but feel so much love and affection for a man who cares this much about me. At this moment, I want to give him the world. But right now, I'm in _his_ world, so the least I can do is play by his rules for the time being.

I capture my adoration for him in the reflection in his pupils, and his mouth swoops in and takes mine. As his free hand goes up and down my back, his tongue tangles with mine, taking all that he can take while still giving me just a little bit of him in return.

"Stand, Danseuse."

He offers me his hand and I take it. Soon, we are standing face to face. His mood shifts.

He's back to business.

"I understand why you lied, but I don't like it. We are never to lie to each other ever again. Is that clear?"

"Yes, Sir."

"I must punish you for lying to me, Danseuse."

I gape at him. "Do you have to?" His eyes narrow in disapproval. "Sir?" I say quickly.

"When you are dishonest and disobedient, you _will_ be punished in this room."

I wonder what happens to stalking megalomaniacs when _they_ misbehave. But suddenly I realize that I don't have a sword in this fight. He's the one with the playroom and the _dom_ title, not me.

My head sinks, but he catches my chin once again.

"Danseuse…it _will_ hurt..." I gasp, "…but you will enjoy it. I assure you. When all's said and done, you'll want to be bad more often." And right away, I catch the corners of his mouth trembling, fighting back a seductive smile. Suddenly, I start to melt like putty in his hands.

"I'll even let you choose the object for your spanking," he utters.

My eyes grow wider.

 _He's going to spank me with an object?_

 _But he's letting you choose.  
And he said that I'll enjoy it._

"Thank you, Sir," I finally respond. "I apologize for lying."

He nods, pleased. "Go on. Choose your weapon."

 _Sweet lord._

I turn on my heel and scan the entire room, starting with the walls. There are beautiful polished wood and glass cabinets with contents inside of them that range from delicate to downright scary. I also see tall concealed chests that I'm certain holds many other possibilities, but I'm afraid to explore them – figuring that they are hidden for a reason.

My sight returns to the glass against the wall, and I walk closer to one section in particular. I zoom in on intricate whipping sticks… _canes_ , and I ask myself if this would hurt more than the assortment of belts that hang adjacent to it. I open the cabinet and my fingers go towards the thick red and white one. It looks just like a candy cane, but I'm almost certain that taking a few licks from this is far from _sweet_. I'm startled when my fingers can feel the grooves that separate the red from the white. _Ow…this has gotta hurt._

I hear Christian's footfalls approaching, and he's soon by my side.

"That one might be too much for your first caning," he says in a warm but firm voice. "How about this one?"

He pulls out a cane in the display cabinet that I hadn't even paid notice to. It's thin, black, and has a thick red plush-looking handle with a strap. It puts me in mind of a very long symphony conductor's wand. Even though it's thin and light, I instantly know that it will be just as painful. My frightened eyes apparently give me away.

"I will only strike where there is flesh. Your ass…the back of your thighs, and nowhere else. And if it gets to be too much, you will _safe word_. Understand?"

My breath is currently lodged in my throat, and my chest feels like it's closing in.

What in the hell am I doing? I'm about to let this man…a man who I adore, spank me with a device used for corporal punishment in certain third-world countries. What have I gotten myself into?

But I chose to be with him, and this is how he does _'relationships'_.

Fuck. Am I sure that I'm able to handle this?

 _Well, there's only one way to find out._

"Yes…Sir."

His responding smile is so big and bright, that it practically melts away all of the fear and dread that I carried inside of me. But as soon as his grin wipes away and he remembers himself, I am back to fearing and doubting again.

"Come," he murmurs.

He leads me over to a beautiful wooden bench that's about waist-high. I'm thinking that he's going to want me hop on top of it, or something.

"Danseuse, this is my spanking bench. I will spank you here. Then afterwards, I will cuff you to the grid where I will tease you and fuck you. Do you understand?"

My brows practically touch my hairline.

" _Sir_ …how many hits will I get?"

"How many do you think you deserve for lying to me?"

My lids clamp down in defeat. I want to say _'none'_ , because he is so fucking unreasonable, and getting spanked for protecting a friend who made a huge mistake in the past is ridiculous. But I'm certain that no matter what number I call out, it won't be satisfactory for him. He'll only want to punish me even more.

"Five…Sir."

I look up at him for his reaction.

" _Five_?" he repeats. _Oh boy, he's going to want more._  
"Very well, Danseuse."

 _Really?_

I sigh in relief.

"Now, take off your panties, lean across the bench, and grab hold of the other end."

I obey, but I do it while trembling. Once I'm in place…

"You will count out loud after every strike. _Understand_?" he demands.

"Yes. Yes, Sir."

"Good. The sound of your voice counting will help me gauge how you are feeling, which is important since I won't be able to see your face from where I'm standing."

 _Yeah, you'll be too busy going all medieval on my ass.  
Literally._

I'm taken aback on how brutal this act is, yet he is still concerned about how I feel during the process. It's such a contradiction of actions.

Although I can't see him, I sense his larger-than-life presence burning behind me, and I am beyond intimidated.

"Anastasia…tell me why you are being punished," he says in his low, commanding voice.

I can feel my own body being lifted off of the bench's surface from my intense breathing. I'm starting to feel sweat form between me, the corset, and the bench.

"I lied to you, Sir. About José being someone else."

"And will you ever lie to me again?"

"No. No, Sir."

Suddenly, I hear the air being sliced in half with force before a surging pain comes down on my bottom. I scream.

"Count," he barks.

 _Red!_

"One!" I cry out.

Fuck this. I'm done. I can't do this. This shit hurts. Just before I can say _'red'_ , another swat comes down and hits the other cheek. I squeal.

 _Red!_

 _Hell no. This ends now_ – I think, but I'm startled. My brain doesn't know whether to call the safe word, _or_ …

"Two!" I shout.

He soon hits me across both cheeks before I can even process the last two swats.

"Three!"

Tears are now streaming down my face. Not only is this painful, but it's absolutely humiliating.

 _This isn't love._

 _He doesn't love me._

This cruel realization hurts me more than my ass does right now.

Maybe I deserve this. This is what I get for falling in love for a whack job asshole who likes to stalk and take girls into his sex dungeon and then beat them senseless before fucking them to death.

 _This is your lot in life, Ana Steele.  
You chose to dance for this man and let him right into your heart. _

_You take this licking, girl.  
You fucking deserve it._

The cane comes down again, but on the right cheek.

" _Four_ …" I'm losing my breath between the pain in my body and the pain in my heart.

 _One more._

 _One more and no more._

And then the left cheek.

"Five," I whisper.

I hear the cane fall to the floor before he carefully peels me off the table. He turns me around to face him, and his hands hold me steady. What I see in his eyes is not what I expect.

It's heightened pleasure.

 _That motherfucker just got off on hitting me._

As tears stream down my face, his mouth takes mine and he kisses me like he's never kissed me before. However, I don't feel like kissing him back. I feel lost. Soon, he pulls back.

"You have pleased me, Danseuse. Before I cuff you to the grid, I will grant you permission to request anything that you would like to do here in this room."

I gape at him.

 _Is he serious?_

Honestly, I don't want to do anything but leave. I am extremely upset.

But the look of pride and pleasure in his eyes does its best to fight the protest within me.

Fuck, this is _so_ not fair.

 _How can we ever be even in here?  
How can both he and I ever be on the same playing field?_

And immediately, I know exactly how. There is one thing that gives me control. There's one thing that will put my mind, body, and soul at ease.

But will he allow it?  
Will he want the power dynamic in this room to shift?

 _Hell. Why not._

"Sir…I would like to dance," I say in a shaky voice.

Suddenly, his hands come up and begin to wipe away my tears.

"Dance, huh?" he says with a smirk. I nod. "Very well. The iPod and dock are over in the left corner," he tells me.

I nod my response and set off in that direction until his hands reach for my shoulders and hold me in place. He then spins me back around and starts to unfasten each latch of my corset. I freeze.

The purpose in his eyes as they laser into mine are evident as he does his task blindly. My breath rushes out of my mouth. When the final latch is loose, the garment tumbles to the floor.

"I don't need to tell you to make it good, Danseuse. You always do," he says as he plants a solid kiss on my lips. I watch as he turns and saunters over to the chesterfield sofa.

Holy fuck, those jeans and how they hang just on his hips. I can trace the entire outline of his manly-grooves at the sides as it points down to the direction of euphoria. And even though my bum stings, I can feel my center pooling with sheer delight as he sits with his legs cross and waits for me in erotic anticipation.

This man.  
Damn him for making me feel so many things.

I finally make my way over to the dock and awaken his iPod Classic. I decide to browse by genre.

 _He's a classical man.  
He plays piano._

Yet, instead on browsing through the classical genre, I pick R&B and search for a particular artist and song that I hope is there. I strike gold.

The moment I select the song and it starts to play, I turn and see a twinkle in Christian's eye. The rhythm is slow and melodic, and I catch the beat, using it as a vehicle to get closer to him. I stand about six feet away from him and fall into a trance as the piano tells a story about the mysterious man, _this man_ , who plays the piano and exposes both his secrets and mine through the melody.

Brenda Russell is crooning her heart with her smoky rasp as I freestyle a contemporary dance that matches my mood of the past few days. No, _months_. For a second, I break away from my trance and witness how Christian appears to be enraptured. Seeing his pleasure brings me back into the dance, and I resume telling the story of the song with my body.

Shortly after the song is completed, he's kissing me all over as he fastens my wrists to the cuffs hanging down from the grid. He's wanting. _I'm_ wanting. Spanking me took him higher, and dancing for him took _me_ higher.

Soon he's on his hands and knees, kissing my bottom exactly where he struck me earlier, trying his very best to make it feel _all better_. Between his mouth and his tongue, he succeeds. I'm writhing, tugging against the restraints as his mouth eventually makes its way down to my sex, and I am lost.

Not long afterwards, I am bent forward as he takes me roughly from behind.

" _Fuck_ ," he grunts, taking and taking until there's nothing more to take. And in the process, I'm gasping, moaning, and calling out his first name with no regard to where we are or my implied submissive position.

"That's it, Danseuse…come again. Come all over me," he orders.

And I do.

"Again," he says not long after that, and I know for a fact that he's going to have to carry me out of this room by the end of the night.

….

I'm trying to eat my breakfast in peace, but Christian won't let me.

" _So_ , thinking back…how was last night for you in the playroom?" he says before crunching into his toast.

My eyes nervously scan around the kitchen, remaining fully conscious of Mrs. Jones as she refills Christian's coffee, then takes up the plates that we are done with.

"Ana…you can speak freely here. Mrs. Jones has signed an NDA," he says calmly, as if that fucking helps. It doesn't.

He knows right away that my mouth is a locked vault as long as we have company.

" _Gail_ …"

"Christian," I say to him in embarrassment. " _Don't_ …"

"…could you please excuse Miss Steele and I for twenty minutes?"

"Absolutely, Mr. Grey," she says, and quickly heads out of the kitchen, and out of sight.

"Now," he says, smirking.

 _Goddamn it._

"I was nervous," I finally say.

"I could tell," he says with a soft smile.

"Yeah. That's it," I say, shrugging my shoulders.

He narrows his eyes at me. "By the end of the night, was it as pleasureful as I promised you it would be?"

I feel totally put on the spot. "I mean… _yeah_ ," I say awkwardly. "I liked it."

His look hardens. "Look…I know there's something on your mind that you're not telling me. It's important that we remain open and honest in this relationship."

 _Pft_ …he has some damn nerve talking about _honesty_. He was very dishonest when he lured me into that room in the first place. Not to mention, he hasn't opened up to me on why he refuses to let me sleep in his bed with him, _nor_ has he disclosed why he has those old scars on his chest.

But instead of opening a whole new can of worms this early in the morning, I decide to be honest about one thing.

"I don't fancy the idea of punishment. We're adults, Christian. Why can't we simply talk things out and not have to resort to violence."

 _Oh shit.  
Why did I have to say that?_

His eyes nearly bulge out of his head.

" _Violence_? What we did in there wasn't _violent_." His expression surpasses offended, but I remain steady.

"You hit me and turned my ass red," I argue.

"But you let me spank you with my hand before for pleasure. It's the very same concept."

"Yeah, but not like _that_. And you didn't used to spank me simply because you thought that I did something wrong," I hiss.

He sighs in frustration. "Look – a dom/sub relationship is all about trust. And consequences come into play if that trust is broken."

" _Yeah, yeah_ …I hear you," I say, brushing off his nonsensical words, "but do you really think that's a healthy thing for a relationship? I mean, would you do that to your own wife?"

Immediately, his expression turns so cold that I start to shiver.

"I'm _never_ getting married, so I will never find out, will I," he growls.

Oh.  
My.  
God.

The truth finally comes out.

All I can say in response is, " _Oh well_ ," but I'm still shaken.

At this very moment, I know that I will absolutely need to love this man beyond reason in order to continue down this road with him, because our road will _never_ end in marriage.

….

After our squabble over breakfast, the tone of the penthouse has completely shifted. Christian remained in his study during lunch as I tried to eat alone in the kitchen. I forced down what I could of that turkey croissant sandwich because I didn't want to offend Mrs. Jones.

As dinnertime approaches, I begin to question if being Christian Grey's _lover_ is the same as being his girlfriend. I keep reminding myself of all of the times that he said that I belonged to him. But does that necessarily make me any different than his past submissives?

Does that still make me nothing other than his glorified sex slave?

His _private dancer_?

At dinner, Christian finally comes out of hiding. However, what he doesn't know is that I'm feeling just a little more _braver_ tonight.

"Did you get a lot done this afternoon?" I ask as I pick up my glass of wine and sip.

"Yes, I did," he says tersely.

"Good," I nod before taking a forkful of chopped steak and gravy. "Hey, I was thinking about something earlier. You mentioned that you'd never get married. What about kids?"

He turns his head sideways at me and chuckles, but it's not with humor.

"Where's this coming from?"

"I'm just curious," I say as I finish chewing.

"What about you?" he lobs, completely avoiding the question and turning it right around on me. I oblige.

"Yeah…sure. One day when I'm older. Maybe early thirties? Who knows."

He blinks and then jerks his head, perplexed before taking another sip out of his wineglass.

 _So, he's avoiding the question._

 _Let's see if he'll answer this one._

"I was also wondering why you were so quick to pull me into your playroom, but slow to bring me into your bedroom."

Suddenly, his lips and eyes clinch tightly. His anger is beyond evident.

"I told you, I don't let _anyone_ sleep in my room."

"Why not?" I say, practically whining.

"Why do you insist on pushing me, Ana?" he growls.

"It's a simple question…"

He gives me an ominous glare, and I freeze.

"It's. _None_. Of. Your. _Fucking_. Business."

 _Oh no._

My tears don't wait for me to stop them from falling.  
In an instant, I spring up and dart right out of the kitchen.

"Ana!" he squawks.

I run up the stairs and dash into _'my'_ bedroom. I search for a lock, but there isn't one.

 _Of course, there isn't a lock on my door.  
He's a maniac stalker._

 _Shit!_

Without thinking, I pull the chair from under the desk and prop it underneath the doorknob.

"Anastasia! You come down here and finish your dinner!" he barks out from the other side of the door.

"Fuck you!" I bite back with venom. "You're _not_ my father!"

After he jiggles the doorknob, he groans in frustration before the sound of his footfalls fade away in the opposite direction.

I continue to frantically pace the room as my tears fall like a torrential downpour. My mind continues to race around like a traumatized hamster on a wheel. I silently start to pray for something to come down from the heavens and lift me up and out of this terrible place.

Minutes slowly turn into hours and I remain in my own personal hell.

 _How did I let myself fall in love with this…this asshole?_

 _Oh my god,_ _ **why**_ _?  
Why, oh why?_

I knew that this man was too good to be true.

But still, my heart won't let me stop loving him. There's something deep down inside of me that hopes that he will change and begin to open up to me.

 _Maybe it will happen after he cools down._

There's a small glimmer of hope that he'll finally realize how much it hurts that he's keeping his heart and soul away from me. He wants everything from me, but he refuses to give me all of him in return.

As far as I'm concerned, this relationship has always been one-sided.

Yeah, I profited by getting my schooling and expenses taken care of. But looking back, I'd trade all of that in just to not feel as low as I do right now.

No matter what happens, Christian Grey has already claimed my heart. There's no way that I'd ever get it back from him. I'm permanently bound to him and it's mortifying.

 _Oh god…what to do?_

The thoughts don't stop. It's quiet outside of this door, but it's unbearably loud inside of my mind.

 _I need peace.  
Quiet._

The only way to stop the sobs and stop the tears is to take my mind elsewhere.

Suddenly, I walk to the bedside table, open up the drawer, and pull out my iPod and headphones. I scroll and scroll the wheel in search of inspiration until it finally slaps me in the face.

 _Walk Away._

The moment the piano intro comes in, Christina Aguilera's smoky speaking voice poses the very question that I've been trying to answer myself since I first stepped into this room a short time ago.

As Christina transitions into a bluesy purr, telling me exactly what I am – _naïve_ – my feet and hands glide, interpreting everything that I am feeling on the inside. The song talks about being held captive by a man in bed, when she knows good and goddamn well that he's absolutely no good for her.

 _Walk away._

I'm turning, leaping, spinning in midair as the song reaches a crescendo.

 _I deserve better._

 _I need answers, and he's not giving them to me._

 _Damn him._

I literally dance my heart out without a single soul watching me do it. By the end of the song, I'm completely spent, both physically and emotionally as I lie on the floor. I extend my arms and legs out to one side like a crescent moon. Soon, I shut off the iPod in my jeans pocket before _Fighter_ plays for much too long.

Heaven forbid if I were to dance to this song.  
I'd burst right out of this room and literally dance the entire thing right on Christian Grey's head.

 _Walk away, Ana._

Still, I need that boost, that extra push.

I need a good, clear reason to walk away and not look back. Sure, he's keeping his lips sealed on why he won't let me sleep with him, or why I'm not allowed to touch him in certain places on his body. But clearly that's not enough to repel me from him, or else I wouldn't be here right now.

What I need is a clear sign that he's fucking bad news, or else he's simply going to keep tugging at my heartstrings and bringing me back to him.

….

While I'm still deep in thought and debating on whether or not to finally let Christian into this room since he's been knocking on and off for the past two hours, I roam into the massive closet – sighing at the sheer ridiculousness of it all.

 _There's way too much in here for one person, yet he supposedly got it all for me._

As I scan down to the floor, I peep a pair of silver sparkling shoes, wondering why I hadn't noticed them before. _They would've gone perfectly with that silver dress that I wore two nights ago._ As soon as I pick them up, the reflection of the heels hit something on the floor. I give it a closer look and realize that it's a compact disc.

 _Huh?_

I contemplate if it's a playlist that Christian left behind, wanting me to find it. Perhaps they're songs that he enjoys and wants me to dance to, but dancing for him today is the very last thing on my mind.

I bend over and pick the disc up with my free hand while the shoes dangle from the other. When I flip over the CD to see if there's a label, I am startled when I catch the words.

 **THIS IS CHRISTIAN GREY**

It's all in bold, block lettering written in black marker.

 _What is this?_

I quickly remember that I have my MacBook. I leave the heels and take the CD to my laptop on the dresser. I move the items to the bed and sit right on the edge of it. I flip the lid of the laptop, enter my password, and then slide the CD into the slot. After a short wait, I see the movie player app icon leaping in the dock along the bottom of the screen.

 _So, it's_ _ **not**_ _music._

What I see and feel in the next few moments can't really be described in words. No…it's not because I can't make out the moving images. On the contrary. It just hurts entirely too much to actually _say_ what I'm seeing.

I gape in absolute horror as I witness Christian doing some insane shit in his playroom to some naked girl who's approximately my build and has the very same hair color as mine. I'm mortified watching the levels of insane pain that he inflicts on this poor girl before he eventually ties her up and fucks her like she's absolutely nothing.

Soon, I'm sobbing to the point of not being able to watch it anymore.

In my soul, I know beyond a shadow of doubt that I could _never_ reach this level of insanity with this man.

 _That is not me._

I'd never let him put bruises and marks on me like that, just to turn me around and fuck me like a battered slab of meat.

Fuck, I can't believe I let that man cane me last night. I've definitely let things get too far. I knew exactly what he was doing. He was grooming me…for _that_. But I will never ever be _'that'_.

Somewhere in my heart of hearts, I was hoping that my time here in Seattle with him would be the main catalyst for us to fall in love and finally being together in the traditional sense. But after watching that video, I know that there is no such thing as _'traditional'_ with Christian Grey.

Suddenly, the words spoken to me by that blonde woman wearing a suit come back to my remembrance.

 ** _"_** ** _He'll fall right back into his old habits.  
He's a born dominant.  
He can't help himself.  
It's in his blood."_**

He hates marriage.  
He hates kids.  
He hates love.

But what he _loves_ is to torture women and fuck them like beasts.

None of those things are for me.

 _"_ _Don't be afraid to pull back if something doesn't feel right"_ – Joy once said.

Well, I'm no longer afraid.  
I can't ignore this feeling anymore.

Suddenly, I look up towards the heavens with tears streaming down my face, stopping just short of verbally thanking God for giving me a clear-cut reason to leave Christian Grey.

* * *

CHRISTIAN

I was hoping that Anastasia would cool off enough to return downstairs to watch Dick Clark and have a champagne toast with me at midnight. Instead, I found myself banging on her door, pleading with her to _please come back downstairs_.

So, while alone on the sofa, I watched the ball drop.

 _2011._

The clock strikes midnight and I'm feeling like total shit.

 _Fuck._

She's still mad at me. I mean… _I get it_. I snapped at her. I demanded that she be honest with me, while I continue to hold things back from her.

This shit takes time. I'm just not quite ready to open up to this girl yet. The shit that I've been through... I swear, she'd run _far away_ if she knew _everything_.

 _I can't let that happen._

Just after one o'clock, I make my way back up the steps. I no longer see light shining through the foot of her door. When I turn the knob this time, it actually opens.

I approach her bedside, slowly. I gaze at her sweet, hurt face.

 _Hell, she even looks tormented in her sleep._

My heart sinks further down my chest.

Before I know it, I find myself climbing into bed behind her. I pull her back into my front, and then I place the duvet over us.

I know that I could lose her at any given moment and I don't want that to happen.  
Yet I feel that I might be too late.

 _Wake up, sweet Anastasia.  
We need to talk. _

_I don't want you to leave._

I kiss her hair.

….

I'm startled as my lids catch a flash of light. I open my eyes and I am facing directly at the weakened sunlight peeking through the curtains.

 _Wait, this isn't my room._

 _I must've fell asleep in Ana's room._

And then I get another thought.

 _Wait a second…no nightmares?_

I quickly spring upward in bed and scan my entire surroundings.

 _What's wrong?_

It feels strange.  
 _Empty_.

 _Maybe Ana's in the kitchen eating breakfast._

I look to where I last saw her in bed, and I see a folded sheet of paper on the pillow. My eyes grow wide. I quickly snatch the note and unfold it.

 _Christian,  
Thank you for a very insightful four months. _

_I might not have been able to learn more about YOU,  
but I was certainty able to discover more about ME._

 _What I learned is that I'm not cut out for this life of yours._

 _I suggest that you find that girl you left before you  
decided to massacre my heart.  
She's more your speed._

 _Please don't try to contact me after reading this._

 _I wish you all the best in your life._

 _–_ _Ana_

After I read her note, I'm left gasping for air.

* * *

 ** _A/N: Faithful readers – Because this chapter was especially long this week, I will be taking a break from updating next week. It's going to take some time for us all to digest everything that happened here in chapter 17, haha!_**

 ** _When we return in two weeks, the shit will hit the fan. Lots will happen in chapter 18. It'll be a chapter of exposed secrets, and many tears will be shed by all involved._**

 ** _Kate will confront Ana on her lies over the past four months. Christian will slowly come clean about his past to Ana over the phone. However, attempting to see her in person will be much harder than he anticipates. Our girl's pretty dead set on never seeing his gorgeous mug again._**

 ** _And for those who are wondering – Time will move on, but Christian certainly cannot. So, he decides to follow Ana around while on a trip to Portland, which makes matters even worse for him when he sees her hanging out with someone else._** **:O** ** _Will it be an old 'guy friend' from Zion?_** **;)**

 ** _It's going down in these last couple of chapters, people! – ST2_**

 ** _Dance Song Suggestion Shout Outs: Kudos to "Storie Tells All" Facebook group member Nichole S. for suggesting Goldfrapp's "Strict Machine". Great song!_**


	18. Chapter 18 - Eruption

**Chapter 18** **–** **Eruption**

CHRISTIAN

I'm searching Ana's bedroom high and low. Nearly every outfit that I ever bought her remains in the closet. However, the small suitcase that she came here with is now missing.

I soon march out of the room, trudge down the stairs, and head towards Taylor's office where I find him in the middle of conducting surveillance. _Thank god he's here_ – I immediately think to myself, followed by– _Why in the hell did he watch her leave and didn't inform me?_

"Sir…"

"How long have you been sitting here?" I say, doing a piss poor job at restraining my own annoyance.

"For the past two hours. What seems to be the issue?"

"Miss Steele left here without my knowledge. Did you see her take the elevator?" I say, getting directly to the point.

He gapes at me. "She left? _When_?"

I take in a deep, slow breath in an attempt to still the volcano erupting in my gut.

"I don't know," I rumble through gritted teeth. "That's why I'm asking _you_."

"As I said, I've been in here for two hours. I can pull the footage to see when exactly she left the premises."

And without missing a beat, Taylor launches the surveillance playback program in one of the several monitors, and then proceeds to enter a start time of four hours ago. He then fast-forwards quickly past the lifeless footage. The moment we both spot movement in the spiral staircase, he brings the rapid advancement to a halt and then resumes playback in real time.

I gape as I watch Ana on screen lugging her suitcase and shoulder bag down to the main floor during the wee hours of the morning. I can't quite catch a clear look of her face, but I see that she's remaining extremely vigilant, scoping out the surrounding area by shifting her head in every direction in order to ensure that she doesn't get caught sneaking out.

 _Oh no._

 _She truly walked out on me._

As she moves towards the elevator in the foyer, my eyes zoom over at the quadrant on the screen where the closest camera in that area faces. Finally, I get a clear view of the sheer defeat etched across her beautiful face as she leans forward to reach the panel of buttons.

 _Whoa._

She steps back – and as if she were intentionally throwing salt on my wounds, she quickly crosses her ankles and then curtsies like a prima ballerina moments before the elevator doors close. It's as if she were taking one last bow after a show-stopping performance at the very end of a three-and-a-half-month run.

 _It was her final curtain call._

The words to Madonna's _Take A Bow_ begin to traverse all over my empty spirit.

I am gutted.

Without speaking another word to Taylor, I storm out of his office and head into my study to retrieve my cell. I call Ana's phone. It rings.

And rings.

And rings.

 ** _"_** ** _Hey, this is Ana. Please leave a message."_**

"Ana… call me as soon as you get this message. I don't know why you left without talking to me," I groan, running my free hand through my hair in extreme frustration.

Not knowing what else to say, I hang up the phone. I then access my tracking app. When Miss Steele's whereabouts finally show up on the map, I am floored.

 _What the hell…_

I rush back up the stairs and return to Anastasia's bedroom. With phone in hand, I proceed to call her once more. This time, I hear a buzzing nearby. I follow the sound until I'm at the bedside table. I open up the drawer.

 _There's her phone._

 _There are her car keys._

A wave of nausea threatens to overtake me.

 _She left her car?!  
Where in the hell is she going without her car and her phone?_

I call Taylor.

"Sir?"

"Find out where Miss Steele is," I huff in a panic. "She left her phone here."

….

My forehead is pressed firmly against the cold, polished wood desk.

 _Grey, she's been telling you over and over again what she wanted, yet you still didn't give it to her._

Ana wanted to know the deepest innermost part of me, but I couldn't come clean. Instead, I had my mind dead set on training her to be my sub, even though I knew without a doubt that she wasn't fully capable of being that. Hell…not that I did very much to help her succeed in that area. Instead, I proceeded to confuse her. I went out of my way to tell her that she was my _lover_ , not my sub. But old habits die hard. I couldn't set aside my dominant ways for _one fucking second_ and try things out her way.

I feel like absolute shit.

* * *

ANA

As I ride the early train from Seattle to Vancouver, I feel as though I've left a big piece of me behind.

 _"_ _I'm happy to hear your voice this morning."_

However, my shattered heart won't let his once tender words take root. Maybe it's because those words weren't followed with: _I miss you; I need you._

 _I love you._

 _He didn't love me. He never loved_ me – I keep reminding myself of the brutal fact as I press my forehead against the cold window while wiping away the vast tears from my eyes.

 _I only existed in his life for his amusement and strange enjoyment._

 _"_ _It's none of your fucking business."_

If Christian Grey was ever in love with me, he would've never uttered those words to me. The fact remains that he continued to shield his heart away from me. But his dick? _Oh_ …he shared that freely. He's never had a problem with giving _that_ away, as proven by the gut-twisting video that I witnessed with my very own two eyes.

I may still have the disc in my possession, but I'll _never_ watch it again. In spite of how raw and brutal that recording was, I didn't even bother to eject the CD from my MacBook. Had I left it where I found it, Christian would have known exactly why I left his penthouse. I don't want to hear his excuses or lies as to why he had the audacity to even record that woman in his playroom like that.

I shudder to think if I was being recorded in there as well.

 _Grey has some nerve being pissed off at Jay Dark.  
In my eyes, this makes him no better than my former boss._

After I stopped the video and literally cried my eyes out, I knew that I had to leave Christian's place by any means necessary. And because he has fucking eyes in the back of his head, I needed to figure out an ironclad escape, or else I would've found myself making up some lame excuse to leave Seattle early. This plan would've also required a phone call once I got back home, informing him to never contact me again.

Luckily, I didn't have to go that route.

And fortunately, I had the opportunity to give back to him what he's given me over the past two and a half months – an empty ' _thank you'_ letter. Except this time, there _won't_ be a _'next time'_.

When I decided to remove the chair away from the bedroom door last night, I knew that he'd be checking on me in the middle of the night. My intent was for him to let down his guard so that I could possibly sneak out of his apartment later on.

The longer I kept him from getting to me, the more I knew that he'd keep watch over that door until I finally surfaced from the bedroom.

Never in a million years did I think he'd crawl into bed and fall sound asleep with me wrapped up in his arms. I was wide awake, pretending to be in dreamland when he climbed in. I thought that fate was playing a very cruel joke on me. _Oh, he'd better not even think about trying to fuck me again_ _in my sleep_ – I thought to myself.

I was ready to knee him hard in the balls.

But no, he only held me close for hours. He also kissed my hair several times. The internal battle I began having with myself nearly killed me. However, the scariest part was trying to figure out when exactly he actually fell asleep. Finally, I opened my eyes once his breathing changed. I carefully turned around until I could see his face.

 _Look at him_ – I thought. _All peaceful and gorgeous sleeping right here by my side. He has me wrapped up in his strong arms like a small teddy bear. I can't leave him like this. He's ready to turn over a brand-new leaf._

 ** _Bull shit._**

Right away, flashes of that graphic video return to my consciousness. Then I thought – _Whatever head games this asshole has decided to play now, I know for a fact that all roads will only lead back to his playroom._

I knew that if I stayed, I'd be facing the very same fate as that girl in the recording.

I don't know if she was his last submissive before I came along, but I do know one thing's for certain: Eventually, he left her. And if I fell all the way under his spell, and he were to have his absolute way with me, he'd only use me up until he got bored.

 _I would've ended up just like the girl on the video._

When I finally garnered the nerve to walk out of that penthouse, I took my life back.  
I took my power back.

With that being the case, why do I feel so helpless? The answer is simple.

I'm still _out of my mind_ in love with him.

Regardless of that sad fact, I must continue to fight each and every day before I fall back into Christian's snare. A greater part of me hopes that he does exactly what my letter suggested and simply move on. But if he comes crawling back to me, I am going to need to be ready to stand my ground.

I absolutely refuse to let him treat me like a piece of meat, or a ragdoll without a soul. In my world moving forward, it's going to be _'No Sir'_ and _'No Mr. Grey…I won't be dancing for you this time'_.

I don't think that I could ever forgive him for finally showing me his true colors this week. And even if I decided to forgive him and take him back, which I _wouldn't_ , I'd have to make **_huge_** sacrifices for him.

No marriage.

No children.

On the inside, I'd always known that Christian Grey was no good for me. As long as he continues _not_ to let me into his heart, I will always be on the outside with him. So, I'm never bringing up that video to him, or to anyone for that matter. I'm not giving him the opportunity to make up some stupid excuse for it. I simply refuse to trip over his wire after he speaks eloquent words while touching my hair and fluttering those gorgeous gray eyes at me.

I am positively done with him grooming me to become his glorified whipping post.

One of these days, I endeavor to be in a relationship with a _normal man_ who's not ashamed to proclaim who I am to everyone that he truly cares about. A man who cherishes the idea of being a husband to me and a father to our children someday.

I've reached my wits end in this unconventional relationship with Christian. True, it was thrilling at first, but as my heart became more and more invested, this entire _just-dance-and-fuck_ scenario eventually became just as unfulfilling as empty calories. Just as the lyrics declare in _Walk Away_ – the heart wrenching ballad that I danced to while locked up in the bedroom, what we had was artificially sweet, like candy. Our entire situation was beyond unhealthy.

When a man tells you who he is, be it by his actions or his words, believe him. Christian told me point blank – he didn't want kids; he never wants to get married. And if he's being totally being honest with himself, he really doesn't want _me_.

 _Hell_ …what _does_ he want?

I'm done with sticking around to find out. Like the blonde woman in the suit warned me months ago, Christian Grey will never change. Maybe he just needs to find himself another _real_ submissive. He'll get everything that he needs out of _her_.

But not me.  
I can't do this anymore.

I clearly wanted _way more_ out of this _'relationship'_ than he was willing to give me. After my school year was paid for in full – which occurred very early on in our _arrangement_ , I no longer cared about the money. I didn't bask in the extravagance of the fancy clothes, the posh hotel rooms, the fully-loaded new car, or the helicopter ride at dusk. The sex? Yeah, it was good. No… _amazing_. But even that turned cold after a while.

If I ultimately wanted to be someone's eternal fuck toy or come dumpster, I would've lost my virginity a long, long time ago.

Yep…Christian was perfectly fine with the way things were between us. The clincher was that he didn't quite fancy me asking him certain questions about his past, although he had this way of pulling _my_ past out of me.

 _I guess the more he sealed his lips from uttering a single word about his heart, the louder that sordid video spoke out for him._

The very thought of what I just walked away from reignites the waterworks all over again.

….

 _Hell, I swear I didn't see her car parked outside._

"Kate," I utter, blinking my eyes several times the moment I spot her on the living room sofa after swinging the door open. I don't bother asking her why she's home days early since I'm guilty of the same.

She springs up from the sofa and approaches me wearing a sour expression.

 _Kate, whatever it is, it can wait.  
I'm in no mood for additional drama at the moment._

"You weren't with Ray over the holidays," she says to me in a confrontational manner. I gape at her.

On the tip of my tongue, there's a – _um yes, I actually was with Ray over Christmas_ , but I don't think that's what she's calling me out on. Regardless, I don't care what her gripe is against me at the moment, I simply want to get to my room and be alone.

"I've been calling you all morning," she hisses.

"Sorry, I didn't have my phone with me," I murmur, maneuvering past her with my roller bag. I head towards my room, ignoring her; but then I hear her footfalls trailing me.

"Where did you leave it?" she says in a harsh, accusatory tone. "At Christian Grey's house?"

I stop just short of my bedroom door.

"That's right," she growls. "I finally found my lost recorder deep down in between the sofa cushions. And when I pressed play from where I last left off, I was surprised to discover that you'd spent the _entire weekend_ prior to that interview with _him_."

I spin on my heel and gape at her.

"And all this time, I thought that you were staying over at Betsy's to watch the boys while her and Josh were out of town," she says, glaring at me in contempt. "Oh, by the way, did Grey manage to finally show you the _room_ that he was harping on?" she adds with a venomous tone.

 _Kate, you really don't want to do this with me right now._

All of the fear and anguish I once harvested…nonexistent. I used to be so afraid of Kate finding out about Christian and me. But now that she knows, I couldn't care less.

I am upset about _one thing_ , however.

I purse my lips. I know that my eyes are beyond inflamed from all the tears that I've spilled during the three-and-a-half-hour train ride, not to mention the taxi commute to the apartment, but I press onward to make my point.

"We watched you press pause before you excused yourself," I remind her.

But obviously she was bullshitting us. _Why would she pretend to hit the pause button before going to take a piss?_ I am stunned that neither me nor the paranoid billionaire didn't think to check to see if she actually hit pause on her digital recorder. Oh well, not that it matters now anyway.

Grey and I are done.  
Finished.

 _I left Seattle without renewing his fake little contract._

"I don't know if you knew this, Steele – but in journalism, the mic is _always_ on," she throws in my face. "How dare you tag along to the interview, knowing good and goddamn well that you were on _very_ familiar terms with the interviewee? And you kept it from _me_ , your so-called _best friend_ ," she says, now raising her voice. "And for _how long_?"

If I had the energy to slap her dead in the face, I would. But in an instant, the past three and a half months flash in my mind and I'm beyond overwhelmed. I'm not thinking about lying to Kate and getting caught. No – my heart's aching over losing something that I never even had.

 _What an utter tragedy._

"About three and a half months, but you don't have to worry about him and me anymore," I say with a shaky voice. "We're done. _Finished_."

As the tears begin to cascade for the thousandth time, I rush into my room and shut and lock the door before Kate's able to follow me inside.

" _Really?!_ Yeah, mature. _Real_ mature, Steele," she barks out loud.

….

"Ana," I hear Kate's voice speak softly for the very first time today.

Hours after locking myself up in my own room – _which seems like a regular occurrence for me these days_ , I lie in bed after letting the entire _A Hundred Million Suns_ album by Snow Patrol play through my headphones three times. The reason being two-fold: First, to mask the sound Kate's bitching on the other side of the door. And second, to drown out my own sobs.

I don't repeat the album a fourth time.

"You know…I realize that I haven't been an easy friend to deal with," I hear her say with a shaky voice. The sound of her breaking down pricks me to the core. "Had I been a better friend, perhaps you wouldn't have kept this a secret from me."

I drag in a staggered breath before rolling out of bed. When I unlock the door and push it open, my eyes land on a broken Kate. However, I must appear to be in worse shape than she is as she gapes at me.

"Oh my god, Ana," she gasps. When she pulls me into her arms, I completely fall apart over her shoulder. "It's okay," I hear her coo repeatedly through my heavy sobs while rubbing my back.

Eventually, she leads me back over to my bed and guides me to the edge to sit down. She joins me, pulling me into her side in order to provide comfort. Unfortunately, it doesn't do very much to soften the blows that I've been dealt in Seattle, both literally and figuratively.

"I'm so sorry for being such a raging bitch. Look, you're my very best friend, and if there's something going on with you, I want to help."

Surely, it can't be this easy. I was expecting a knockdown, drag out fight with her. I've kept a major secret from her for _months_ , and here she is, apologizing to _me_.

I'm fully expecting her to course correct and get back to shouting at me any minute now.

"I don't need you making any retractions to your article to include me," I mutter.

"Ana, _seriously_?" she gapes at me. "Give me a little credit here. You're my _best friend_. I'd never sell you out."

 _It's so easy to forget that fact._

Over the last two years or so, I've operated in the frame of mind that always expected anything that I ever said to Kate to turn back around and bite me in the ass. However, after wiping away a few tears, I find myself telling her everything – staring at Zion, but leaving out the part about the playroom, the caning, and the jaw dropping video. As I proceed, Kate's expression, stunned with an equal measure of hurt, doesn't go unnoticed. I then stop to remind her that she's always been rather opinionated regarding my choices, not to mention _invasive_.

"I felt that the situation with my tuition was something that I needed to handle on my own," I say straightforwardly.

When I mention that the owner of Zion was Sasha's dad, Kate is beside herself.

"I get why you kept where you worked from me, but _Sasha_?" she gapes, genuinely hurt. "I thought that she and I were better friends than that. In fact, I assumed that we were much closer than the two of you were."

"I can't tell Sasha's story," I say to Kate. "She'd have to tell you that herself. All I can attest to is how she stepped in and helped _me_. But, if you're looking for answers as to why she never confided in you, I'd look within. Even you said so yourself, you tend to be rather judgmental."

Kate winces as if I just struck a nerve. "I've never said that I was _judgmental_. I said that I can be a _raging bitch_ from time to time." _Same difference, Kate._ "Do you guys honestly think that I am constantly judging everyone?"

I try to find a better way to put this, but I know that no matter what I say, she will either be offended or hurt. But before I can even think of what to say, Kate begins to cry.

 _Oh no.  
Not this shit._

Isn't it just like Kate Kavanagh to turn an opportunity to comfort someone else for a change into a _woe is me_ moment.

"Look Kate, I don't have the energy right now to pull the both of us out of the ditch. I just got my fucking heart broken," I say through gritted teeth. I feel the tears trying their damnedest to overtake me once more, but my irritation with Kate is just enough to buck them off.

"Ana. I get it. But what you're not getting is my side. Imagine, my very best friend and another one of my closest friends keeping bigtime secrets from me." She briefly pauses for a thought. "You know, maybe it is me. I mean…it's not like it's just one person that's choosing not to confide in me."

Although she looks as if she's going to completely fall apart, she stands and looks down at me with resolve.

"I'm going to give you some space. We'll talk later."

When she steps out and closes the door behind her, it's crystal clear to me that this is Kate's way of digesting her own hurt, too.

* * *

CHRISTIAN

I can't get the shape of her gorgeous face out of my head.

I purposed to retreat to my study to get some work done late at night, avoiding phone calls from family throughout the day, and forgoing the large New Year's Day feast that Mrs. Jones left for Ana and me in the fridge.

Whether she's willing to admit it, Mrs. Jones might be a tad superstitious. Like last year, she prepared a balsamic onion braised pork tenderloin, black-eyed peas, turnip greens and buttermilk cornbread. She'd mentioned before that her southern grandmother would make a similar meal every New Year's Day for the entire family for _'good luck'_.

Unfortunately, there's no any amount of cornbread that can reverse this catastrophe of a day. If this isn't the worst January 1st ever, it's damn near up there.

 _I can't believe she left me like that._

But I've done the very same to her time and time again. _Isn't karma a rotten bitch?_ However, I'd always come back for more of her. Sadly, I have a sinking feeling, both from her note and from the way that she left everything that I've ever bought her behind, that she's _never_ coming back.

As I continue to wallow in my own anxiety and feel beyond helpless – an emotion that I've never grown accustomed to, I hear a knock on the door.

"Come in."

The door opens and Taylor surfaces.

"Sir, we've located Miss Steele. She's back home. In Vancouver. She took the train."

I let out a heavy sigh of relief.

"Thank you, Taylor.

I resolve to let her sleep off this very trying and emotional day.

 _I'll reach out to her in the morning._

* * *

ANA

I sit at the kitchen table, slowly rotating a very hot mug of tea in my palms. On the other end of the table, Kate works on a steamy bowl of instant oatmeal. I haven't been able to stomach a single bite since coming home yesterday. I've misplaced my appetite somewhere in that enormous cold penthouse in Seattle.

I'd also forgotten what sleep was over the past two nights. In between mulling in madness over the events that transpired during last week, I may have cried myself into a small series of naps, but it wasn't anything that kept me asleep for longer than an hour, _tops_.

"I know that I need to work on being a better listener," Kate starts. After she says the words, the room is silent. It's not until I look up from my mug and at her that I realize that her eyes are dead on me.

"I really don't know what else to say," I sigh. "I told you everything last night."

"But you didn't tell me how _you_ were doing. You only said that you decided to end things with Grey," she counters.

I take in a deep breath in order to drown this seemingly never-ending ache in my chest. It's useless. The deepest of words just come tumbling out of me like guts just spilling out onto the kitchen floor.

"I fell madly in love with him, and he pulverized my heart."

I start to quiver as if I'm out in the cold of winter, naked. I place my tea down on the table and cover my face with my hands. I hear Kate's chair scrape against the linoleum, followed by her footsteps. In the next beat, I feel her enveloping me in her arms.

"You've never been in love before, Ana," she murmurs in my ear in the midst of my soft sobs. I feel her chin pressing against the crown of my head. "He was your first."

It takes a minute or two for me to regain my composure, but I know that it's only a matter of time before I fall apart all over again.

"I decided last night that I'm going to take my mom up on her offer," I say all of a sudden. Kate takes a step back and I look up at her. "I'd told her over the Thanksgiving holiday that I was unsure about moving to Seattle. She offered that I come and live with her and Bob after graduation until I worked out a job."

"You don't want to move to Seattle because of Grey?" she guesses correctly.

I nod. "It's too close to him. He'd only be a distraction, whether he reaches out to me or not."

"Has he tried calling you since you left?"

"I left my phone at his place. Actually, it was the phone _he_ bought me."

"He bought you the iPhone?"

I nod again. "And a car."

She sighs. "I knew it. I'd just gone with you to purchase the Nissan, yet, not long after that, you come home with a brand-new Audi."

I roll my eyes. "He said that the Versa was not safe. In fact, it came in last place in the category of _safety_ , according to him."

Kate shakes her head. For the first time ever it seems, she's rendered speechless.

"That's why I can't go to Seattle. I don't want to be his prisoner anymore."

She gapes at me. " _Prisoner_?"

"His prisoner of love. My heart's already in this way too deep," I sigh.

"Oh, Ana," she sighs, taking great pity on me.

….

Nightfall's upon us once more, and I still feel just as miserable as I did the night before. Kate's currently out on a late convenience store run as I contemplate taking my shower now as opposed to later. Before I can turn and head off in the other direction, a flash of light beaming through the living room blinds suddenly catches my attention.

I approach the window and carefully peel back a single slat in order to see through it. As my eyes slowly adjust to the dark, I notice a mysteriously parked car sitting idle. It looks unassuming. No lights or anything. As far as I know, it's just some other resident's car, or at least a guest of a resident.

But my gut tells me that this is more than that. Christian hasn't contacted me even once since I left his place early New Year's morning. And although I hope that he took heed to the words written in the note I left him, I don't think that is very likely to happen.

In the couple of months that I've known him, I realized that Christian Grey isn't the ' _fade away into the background'_ type of guy. If he disappears, it's going to be on his own terms, not mine.

Without a second thought, I slide into my sneakers and throw on a winter jacket.

* * *

CHRISTIAN

All damn day, I've been rehearsing in my head what to say to her in order to smooth things over. But day has turned into night, and I still can't find the words to say to her in order to make it all better.

I discovered that I had her house number in the file that Welch had put together, and if I didn't have something already in the works, I would've already called her.

I stare absentmindedly at my computer screen as the words in Ros' email begin to blend together, creating a dizzying blur. My mind's elsewhere, and it's been there since Anastasia left. I can't shake the image of her on the surveillance footage leaving the penthouse utterly torn. The sight of her in that instance was like night and day compared to the serene image of her sleeping in the upstairs bed.

Yesterday morning, I was hoping to finally wake up with her at my side; but instead, she was nowhere to be found.

My ringing cellphone pulls me out of my thoughts. When I check the screen, it's an unknown Vancouver area code. With hope lancing through my veins, I pick up.

"Grey."

"Yeah. It's Ana."

Something in me leaps, even though her voice surpasses cold.

"Miss Steele, I've been meaning to call you _to_ …"

"Christian, shut up and listen to me…for _once_ ," she sighs out loud.

 _Whoa._

I immediately cease talking. I am beyond stunned that she is speaking to me in such a tone.

"I need you to call off all of your fucking guard dogs and stop having me followed. I've already gone outside and relieved Luke of his duties. Who knows who else you have trailing me," she puffs in exasperation.

I feel my insides clenching in anger.

"You can't do that. Sawyer works for _me_ ," I am quick to remind her. "By the way, that wasn't cool how you left me yesterday. We need to talk."

"I don't want to talk to you," she spits out. "I don't want anything to do with you or you fucked up life."

 _Holy shit._

Her words are like a shank to the gut.

"Just tell me why, Ana. Why did you leave without talking to me? Why are you pushing me away?"

I can feel my armor getting weaker and weaker. I feel as if I'm facing the biggest catastrophe of my entire life without even knowing it. It's a reflex that indescribable.

"I've been soul searching these past two days," she says eventually. "Look, I really appreciate everything you've done for me. If it weren't for you, I wouldn't be graduating from college this May. But as of now, our… _arrangement_ has become nothing but a distraction for me. I have my final semester coming up next week, and I need to ace all of my classes in order to maintain my 4.0 GPA. With that said, I need to cut things off right now."

I can't help but think that she's just spouting off a line of bullshit in order to push me away. Something's obviously up. I know her bitterness towards me is a bit more than just me snapping at her for pestering me about not sleeping in the same bed as her.

"Anastasia…why are you just now bringing this up?" I counter. "We've spent five nights together at my place, yet this is the first time I'm hearing this."

She remains silent.

"Look, I get what you're saying. Are you telling me that you just need _time_? Perhaps we can reconnect when you're done with school?"

"No," she says too quickly.

The sick feeling that was previously in my chest and stomach return with a vengeance.

"We're just too different," she continues.

"That's not fair," I strike back. "We simply had a minor spat the other night, and now you're taking it to the extreme."

She laughs, but it's completely devoid of humor. " _Minor spat_? Christian, you damn near bit my head off. But that aside, it's much more complicated than that. You refused to let me sleep with you in your bed and you wouldn't tell me why. You're just not the _long-term_ , true _relationship type_ of guy."

"How can you say that," I gape, appalled. "I met your mother and her husband and told them that we were together. How much more _long-term_ and _truer_ can you possibly get?"

Ana sighs on the other end. "You're not getting it. Look – you don't want kids. You don't want to get married. I think we'd be completely wasting our time being that we want two completely different things out of life."

I feel a wave of frustration threatening to overtake me. Slowly, it starts to take form because I know for a fact that I can't argue with her.

"Miss Steele, you knew exactly what this was."

 _Damn Grey, you just couldn't sugarcoat it, huh?_

"You're right," she says in a soft, ominous tone. "So, with that said, I'd rather we never have contact with one another ever again."

I sigh. "Well, if that's what you _really_ want."

 _No!  
Asshole!  
What in the hell do you think you're doing?!_

"I do," she says too quickly. "Goodbye, Christian."

" _Wait_!" I squawk, beyond frantic.

"I have to go."

"No… _please_ – let's talk this over."

She hangs up.

Right away, I call back the number she dialed me from, but I'm forwarded directly to a generic voicemail greeting.

 _You fucked this up for good, Grey._

 _You need to move on._

* * *

ANA

I sit alone in the commons area trying desperately to study for my very first quiz of the semester, but I'm failing the task miserably.

It's been over two weeks since I last spoke to _him_. I couldn't predict that as the days progressed, the sinking feeling inside of me would grow even worse. Two days after I left Seattle, I found the keys to the Audi that he got me in the stack of mail that Kate brought in. The car turned out to be parked right where it would normally be had I driven it home.

Then, for the past two Mondays, he's been sending these insane flower arrangements to the apartment. Each Tuesday afternoon after class, Kate and I have donated them to the mothers over at the PeaceHealth Southwest NICU.

But it's not just the car and the flowers. He can't stop calling me. It's gotten to the point that I'm afraid he's going to suddenly show up here at school, or at home. Thankfully, I figured out how to ignore his calls on my new iPhone. Well actually, it's Kate's _old_ iPhone that she had activated with a new number.

What I haven't quite figured out yet is how to stop him from leaving me voicemails. Generally, I just delete his messages without even listening to them.

But today I'm feeling especially sentimental. Today's the _third Friday_ that we haven't been together. Fridays used to always be _our day_. I remember feeling so giddy and anxious to show him the brand-new dance that I've learned. Now, I can't even _think_ about dancing without missing him. It's nauseating.

My finger lingers over his latest voice message. All I need to do is simply swipe left and delete it. Instead, I press play and place the phone up to my ear. I'm beyond nervous.

 _You're going to regret this, Steele._

 _"_ _Ana, it's me again. Christian."_

My heart stalls. He sounds so… _different_.

 _"_ _I hope everything's been going well with classes and all. I don't know if you care for begonias. My mother adores them. Anyway, the florist I patronize has this lovely multi-colored assortment that I came across the other day. I'm thinking about sending you a planter of those next week. Your bedroom window faces east, right? I read that's a prime area to put them. Anyway, I know you probably won't call me back. Just know that I'm thinking about you. Take care."_

Just before I can even consider shedding a tear, I am reminded of the cruel reality of the entire situation.

I don't feel sorry for him.

 _The guy that was beating and fucking that girl while recording her without her knowledge isn't worth feeling sorry for._

"Ana," Kate says, pulling me out of my painful reverie. I look up at her as she approaches the sofa where I study.

"Hey."

"What happened?"

 _Dammit._ She knows that I'm distraught over something.

"Well, I just did something quite dumb," I say under my breath. "I listened to _you-know-who's_ most recent voicemail."

Kate sighs, sharing in my defeat. "What did he say?"

"Next week's delivery will probably be potted begonias. Don't know how many he's sending or how to even divvy them up. Roses are so much easier to give away to the mothers."

She gapes at me. "I love begonias. I may want to keep those."

"We're not keeping it in the apartment," I frown. "I don't want to see it."

"Fine," she sighs in defeat. "Why can't he just send you chocolate instead?"

"I wish he'd stop sending me anything at all," I groan in agony. "It's so frustrating."

Kate simply shrugs as she's devoid of any reassuring words or advice.

"I want to be able to focus on finishing up my degree. I need to move forward with my life, but he's making it extremely difficult."

"Why don't you just talk to him?" she says suddenly. "It's been almost three weeks. Don't you think it's been enough time…"?

"No," I hiss out in anger. "If you knew what I know, you wouldn't have even suggested that."

 _Oh fuck._

Kate expression flips from concerned to alarmed.

"What didn't you tell me? I assumed that you put _everything_ out in the open during our _come to Jesus_. I thought that you were going to start trusting me again as your _best friend_."

That same expression of hurt from nearly three weeks ago takes shape on Kate's face.  
It pinches me.

I sigh. "Kate, this is some mind-blowing shit. I don't even want to take you there."

"How _mind-blowing_ are you talking?" she challenges me. "Maybe if I knew the whole story, I wouldn't be talking out of my ass."

"I don't think you know what you're really asking for," I tell her. "It's _bad_ , trust me."

"Was he abusive?" she tosses out there.

Before I'm too quick to say _'no'_ , I freeze.

"Ana," she says in warning. "You have to tell me if he's ever put his hands on you."

"See… _it's_ … It's not what you think. He's _just_ …I don't know…" My words are getting lost and all jumbled up. I don't want to say too much yet speak so little that she jumps to the wrong conclusion.

"You're not making me feel very good about the situation, here," Kate says hauntingly.

"Just know that it's not what you're thinking. Still, it wasn't the best of situations for me. Anyway, I have to pack up and head in for my three-month appointment."

Kate gapes at me. "For what?"

"When I worked at Zion, I had to drop in at the nearby clinic for birth control. Quarterly visits are required there in order to reup. Look, it's not like I _need them_ right now, but I might as well stay on the program – if you know what I mean."

"I didn't know that you were on the pill," she utters, taken aback. "But of course, I also recently found out that there are a _lot_ of things that I didn't know about you."

 _Like me no longer being a virgin._

It's obvious that although we've since made up, a bitter taste still remains in her mouth concerning my hesitancy to completely confide in her. I know for a fact that Kate wouldn't be able to process the thought of me signing a _contract_ just to be with someone.

"Hey, why don't you go with me? Maybe you can get you some, too," I say in jest.

"I'm good," she snorts. "You know that I get my pills mailed to me, and I only have to see my doctor once a year. But I'd still like to go with you. And maybe you can tell me what you're so afraid to mention. You know, I'm really trying hard to work on not being so _judgmental_ , as you and Sasha say."

 _Yep, she's still upset._

"I know," I say sincerely.

I can't deny that she _is_ trying.

* * *

CHRISTIAN

 _One month has gone by since she left._

I've never been in love before, which is why I hesitate to even call this feeling ' _love_ '. Whatever it is, it fucking sucks to the _nth_ degree. I'm finding it difficult to function like I used on a day to day basis. There's this ever-present ache inside of me that seems to never go away.

 _But it's isn't love.  
Right?_

"Ana… _please_. Talk to me. I need to know that you're okay. You have my number. Goodbye."

I hang up my desk phone after leaving her the first message of the day. Yeah…I pretty much leave at least one a day for her. Depending on how bad a particular day is, I could end up leaving her six messages at the very most. I know good and goddamn well that she's not even listening to them, but I leave them anyway. And today's already panning out to be a _six-voicemail day_.

It's only just before eight, and I've already heard that fucking Our Lady Peace song, the one that I sang to Anastasia, _twice_. Yes, _twice_. It played during the random shuffle on my run this morning, and then I heard it play faintly in the main lobby on my way up to my office.

When I hear the melody in my head, I can only think of her and the sheer hell that I've been through since she left. I haven't stop sending her flowers every single Monday. She could be torching them in a dumpster for all I know, but at least someone's signing off for them, whether it's her or her roommate. Even though I've convinced myself time and time again that I need to move on like she demanded, I truly can't see myself doing that.

 _I can't envision a world without Anastasia Steele dancing in it._

Sure, I'll try my best to respect her wishes to be left alone. I'll continue to watch her from afar like her biggest fan who longs to be near her. But the very moment she walks off the stage in May after retrieving her diploma, I anticipate being right there waiting for her, trying my damnedest to convince her to move to Seattle so that we can be together again.

On her terms.

Fuck the paperwork _and_ the playroom. Fuck punishments and restraints. If Ana just wants plain ol' missionary sex in my bedroom, I'll give that to her. If she were to ask me one more time about why I couldn't sleep in the same bed as her prior to the last time, I'd finally tell her that it's because I was being a moody son of a bitch over my lifelong night terrors, and that I am now thoroughly convinced that as long as she's with me, I'll never have another nightmare ever again.

But something deep down inside of me tells me that I'll never get the chance to tell her that. So, in the meantime, I've been driving my therapist mad on a regular basis and will continue to do so as long as Anastasia keeps on pushing me away.

….

I lie awake in my bed during the wee hours of the morning.

 _Why do I even come into this dreadful place?  
It's a battle falling asleep – and when I do, I can't even stay asleep._

Once more, my shitty nightmares wreak havoc on my slumber. After my hyperventilation subsides, I reach for my BlackBerry. Then I do what I've already done six times just the day before.

 ** _"_** ** _Hey, this is Ana. Please leave a message."_**

"It's me again. I wish that I wasn't so… _closed up_ when it came to you. You asked me simple questions that deserved truthful answers, yet I was afraid to let you in. But if I could do it all over again, I'd tell you all about the time prior to age four, before my birth mother OD'd for the very last time…" I take a painful, staggered breath before continuing. "She had this pimp who would come over every day. And if the asshole wasn't beating her, he'd take his frustrations out on me. And heaven forbid he couldn't find an ashtray. Remember those scars on my chest that you asked me about once? _Yeah_."

It hurts to breath as my words slice their way out of me.

"Then, there's the night terrors that I've been having…that I _still_ have. That's why I'm afraid to sleep in the same room with anyone else. The _touching thing_ …the only touch that I ever knew until now was painful."

 _You're saying way too much, Grey._

"Look…I'm still working through a lot of shit, Ana. Not to say that you owe me anything. You _don't_. I just ask that you bear with me while _um_ …I sort through all of this toxic shit. You know… _I_ …I've never felt this way about anyone, which is a surprise considering how I behaved when you were last here. Anyway, I hope that you'll call me back. You can ask me anything you want, and I'll answer you this time. I promise."

I sigh just before disconnecting the call with a heavy heart. I feel like such a fucking idiot, but still I hope that she listens to it and that it prompts her to call me back. Although, I wished that I were telling her all of these things face-to-face instead.

….

 _Fourteen days later…_

I step into the elevator at Grey House after a late lunch-time meeting with my therapist, and _there it is_. I'm all alone in the elevator with clinched eyes and clinched fists, cursing Our Lady Peace and the sound of _Somewhere Out There_ faintly playing in the lobby.

 _As soon as I get to my office, I am going to make certain that nothing plays in any lobby of Grey House other than classical instrumentals._

I haven't heard the fucking song for _years_ until I brought it up to Ana that one time at my place. As soon as we break up, I am hearing the shitty tune everywhere. I'm beyond convinced that this is my punishment for making Ana feel _less than_ before she walked out on me.

Now, I've been severely depressed and enduring absolute hell. My VP is beyond tired of my shit. The rest of my leadership team continue to walk on eggshells around me. Not to mention, Taylor and Gail don't even know what to do with me.

The expression on Dr. Flynn's face this afternoon can only be described as _tolerant_. No matter what he tells me, I plainly shoot him down.

 _"_ _Christian, maybe you need to move on if she hasn't been receptive  
to your attempts to reach out to her."_

 _"_ _I can't do that, John. No matter how much I want to."_

 _"_ _Do you love her?" he challenged._

It always seems to come down to that _four-letter word_. What would happen if I were to utter it out loud? Will it make this ongoing feeling of abandonment hurt even more?

Flynn barely waited for the second hand to reach the _one_ before he ended our session. I can tell that he's beyond frustrated with me. At the end of each session, he constantly reminds me to be honest with myself.

Honesty or not, I do know this: I don't give a flying fuck about that playroom anymore.

I just want Ana back.

….

It's pushing five o'clock when my PA, Andrea buzzes my intercom.

"Mr. Grey?"

"Yep."

"Sorry to bother you, but I have Mrs. Lincoln on the line."

I scoff. "Tell her I'm busy."

"I did. And I tell her that every single time she's called over the past month. Now she's threatening to come here in person if you don't take her call."

 _Fuck._

"Fine," I growl. "Put her through."

"Grey," I gruff once the call is transferred.

"Christian, I don't know if I should take offense that you'd rather finally take my call than actually see me," she says with a prissy purr.

"I've been very busy, Elena. What is it?" I snip.

"I haven't seen you in almost two months. This isn't like us. We've never gone more than two weeks without speaking to each other. I _really_ miss my friend. Why haven't you been taking my calls or accepting my dinner invitations?"

I let in a deep inhale to try to sooth my nerves. It's futile.

"Like I said, I've been busy."

" _Busy_?" she says with a tinge of skepticism. "What about your new sub? Do you even have time for _her_?"

I frown. "What ' _new sub'_?"

" _Anastasia_ , is it?"

"She was _never_ my sub. She was my girlfriend."

" _Was_?"

Hell, she sounds like a cunning kitten ready to pounce on a ball of yarn.

"What do you need, Elena? I have a pile of work sitting here on my desk."

"She left you, didn't she?" she murmurs.

I close my eyes, pained by the words that are now my reality.

" _So_ , she couldn't handle it," Elena assesses.

I take in another deep breath.

"It wasn't for her," I finally admit.

"Wow… _Christian_ , I am truly sorry. If there's anything that I can do for you…"

She sounds disingenuous. There's not a single trace of remorse is present in her tone. Her restrained glee is almost palpable.

"Look, Elena – I have to go. We'll talk some other time."

Without speaking another word, I hang up. And to my surprise, my first thought wasn't concerning how thrilled Elena sounded when she heard that me and Miss Steele were finished.

No, my first thought was – _I wonder if Ana got the flowers and card yet that I sent her today._

* * *

ANA

It's Valentine's Day.

 _Whoop-de-doo._

And although it's only a Tuesday, Kate could be doing anything else tonight besides keeping misery company.

Not only did Christian send me a forty-three stemmed rainbow bouquet of tulips yesterday – **_One tulip for each day that you've been away_** – he'd transcribed on the accompanied card, but he sent me a massive arrangement of white flowers featuring plump roses and lilies, poppies, daisies, tulips, and baby's-breath.

"Holy shit," Kate gapes, her face still frozen in a state of shock even after the two delivery guys lugged the insane floral composition into our apartment and placed it on the kitchen table, which can barely be seen now.

We haven't even had the opportunity to bring yesterday's delivery to the NICU. Needless to say, our apartment looks like a funeral home.

"These look just like _wedding_ flowers, Ana," Kate says, bewildered.

I let out a puff of air, rolling my eyes at the absurdity of what she just said.

"It's just Christian Grey's way of apologizing. I'm certain that he's _not_ thinking about marrying me."

My best friend doesn't seem convinced.

"A huge ass arrangement of _all white_ flowers. _With_ baby's-breath. Either he wants to take you to prom, or he wants to _wife_ you."

I shake my head in exhaustion. "Stop, Kate. How much do you want to bet that his assistant ordered those flowers, and that he has no clue what exactly was sent to me? Those may be his words on the card, but I assure you that he put zero thought into that arrangement," I say gesturing at the garden taking up our table.

She shrugs her shoulders. "I don't know. Maybe you should _just_ …"

"No!" I snap at her.

I know exactly what she's going to say.

 _Hell no.  
Hell __**fuck**_ _no._

I made up in my mind that no matter what, I'd _never_ let him back in. He's already burned me. I refused to get burned again.

Kate doesn't know, but nearly two weeks ago, I listened to another one of his voicemails. It was the length that prompted me to not delete it right away. In the message, he finally admitted to me that he was severely abused as a young child before he got adopted into a loving family. Sure, I feel _really_ bad for him, but the fact remains that he never told me any of this while we were still together.

 _Why is he pouring out his heart to me now?_

Too little, too late, Grey.

Kate sighs in absolute frustration. "I can't offer you any advice unless you tell me exactly _why_ you refuse to see him or take any of his calls. What did he do wrong besides pay you to dance for him? You had sex with him. _Consensual_ sex. You said that sex wasn't part of the agreement."

Grey is trying so hard to break _me_ down, but it appears as if he's succeeding in winning over my best friend. And because I am keeping specific information away from her, I'm the one who's looking like the bad guy… _not_ him.

So, I lead Kate towards the sofa as our Chinese meal turns cold on the kitchen counter, and I tell her _everything_. I've watched her go through every emotion in ten minutes that I've personally experienced over the course of four months. After I'm done talking, the look that remains on her face is a cross between _fury_ and _disgust_.

"Oh, _fuck_ him," she spits out with venom.

 _I did.  
That's why I'm all tangled up in his web in the first place._

….

It's three A.M. and I'm still awake in bed. Kate stayed with me in the living room until just after one o'clock. For the first time since I've known her, she didn't make what happened to me _all about her_. She was finally being the true friend that I needed, even though her holding me and telling me that ' _everything's going to be alright'_ didn't do much to comfort my soul. Still, I was beyond grateful that she listened to me instead of judging me.

If I feel sorry for anyone now, it's Christian. Right now, Kate wants to murder him with her bare hands.

I toss over from one side to the other, trying very hard to sooth myself to sleep. Just like every night, I'm convincing myself that all I need to do for these next three months is concentrate on kicking ass in all of my classes. From the way things are looking, Kate's well underway to become our valedictorian this May.

As for _me_ , I'm not doing so bad myself in spite of my current circumstances. I'm maintaining my 4.0. It's so hard to believe that just a few months ago, I thought that I'd have to drop out of college. _Now_ …I'm on my way to becoming a college graduate. It's bittersweet. Sure, I'll have a degree, but I don't know when I'll actually be able to put it to good use. The job market in publishing isn't looking all that great right now. Regardless, I'll have to work _somewhere_ in May, even if it isn't at a publishing house.

Kate's bummed that I won't be moving to Seattle with her, but she also totally understands why I need to move to Georgia with mom and Bob two days after graduation. But what's _really_ going to suck is that I'll be moving so far away from Ray. And I'm going to really miss Kate, but we vowed that we'd make the best of this time that we have left before we each go our separate ways. Besides, Kate promised that she'll visit me in Georgia a couple times a year.

This is probably the most difficult semester that I've ever endured. Not only is my course load quite challenging, but all the while, I had to work extremely hard to silence my broken heart. I haven't been succeeding in that area. Something deep down inside of me wants to forgive _him_ , but ultimately, I know that it's for the best that he and I remain apart.

No matter how much I miss him, I never want Christian to have to compromise who he truly is. And not only did that lady _Elena_ warn me about the real man behind the suit, but I actually got to witness the _real him_ with my very own eyes while watching that devastating video.

* * *

CHRISTIAN

"Christian, good _lord_ …"

I look up from behind my desk in my study and see my mother leaning against the doorjamb.

 _Why, oh why did Taylor let Grace bogart her way into my apartment._

"You look like you've been drug around the world and back again," she says, moving in just a little closer. "Why haven't you called me?"

"Mom, I've been extremely busy," I sigh.

"But it's _Saturday_ ," she pleads. "By the way, Elena called me last night." _Of fucking course, she did._ "She told me that you were in a really bad way. Not only have you've been avoiding _my_ calls, but she says that you haven't been speaking to her either…or to _anyone_ , for that matter."

"Not true," I say quickly. "I've been talking to Flynn."

She sighs. "John is _not_ family, no matter how long you've known him. You should always feel comfortable to come to me or your father with anything, no matter what. We _love_ you, Christian. I don't like seeing you this way."

I lower my head down.

"Look, I'm not here to force you to tell me what's been bothering you. I only came here to tell you that I'm always here for you whenever you need me. And if you won't sit with me, then the least you can do is accept Elena's dinner invitation. Maybe you're not comfortable telling your mother certain things, but at least tell a friend. A _real_ friend."

 _Elena, you rotten bitch – pulling my innocent mother into this._

"Fine," I say through gritted teeth. "I'll call her."

Even though I'm highly pissed at Elena at the moment, maybe my mother is right.

 _Perhaps going out to dinner with Elena will help me get my head back on straight.  
She does know me better than anyone._

….

I've been in Portland for the last four days.

It's hard to believe that I haven't even once gone over to see Ana. I've been silently waiting for a clear opening to jump right in.

 _Maybe she'll answer the phone the next time I call. Or perhaps she'll receive the next bouquet on Monday and decide that the attached note was enough to move her, and she'll finally reach back out to me._

Still, neither event has happened yet. If it weren't for the fact that I've been having Ana followed all over Vancouver by a very stealth team of PIs and CPOs, I probably would've come by her place a long time ago. See, I had to break out with the big guns since Ana caught Sawyer on patrol last month. It definitely placed him in a very difficult position being that his girlfriend and Ana are still very good friends.

I finally peel away from my spiraling thoughts and focus back on the task at hand in my satellite office at SNA Corp. It's after seven, and I'm more than certain that I'm the only one who remains in the building besides security. Sawyer, who's my head of security here, has probably been long gone.

Suddenly, my cell vibrates loudly against the table, startling me. I pick up.

"Grey."

"Sir, this is Ryan. Do you have a moment?"

 _Ryan is supposed to be on patrol.  
_ I wonder what he wants.

"Go ahead."

"I just saw DG entering a restaurant arm-in-arm with a former client. Dawson Jacobs, I believe."

 _DG: Codename for 'Dancing Girl'._

I. Am. Livid.

….

As I drive in the misty rain to Hudson's Bar and Grill in Vancouver, I am seething. From the very moment I was told who Ana was with, I couldn't help but imagine Jacobs fucking her, which exacerbates the fire in my belly.

 ** _I_** _was her first._

I pull into the lot soon I am standing outside of the restaurant, looking in through one of four-paned squared muntin windows. And there they are, sitting together at a cozy table for two with their profiles facing me. Although the rain comes down just a little bit harder, me leaving my umbrella in the trunk is the furthest things from my mind.

I watch as my girl looks broken and the asshole before her appears to be trying his very best to cheer her up.

 _I did that to her._

 _I'm the cause of her sadness._

Then all of a sudden, Ana begins laughing at something that Jacobs says, and I'm angry all over again. I'm frozen in place. Even my fucking underwear's getting all soppy, but I don't move.

Ten minutes later, the two of them get up and he offers her his arm, which she hooks into. My heart gets another kind of hook. When they exit the restaurant together, I make myself look inconspicuous behind a tree. He holds a large umbrella over the two of them as they remain arm in arm. Anastasia holds her head down while Jacobs navigates for the two of them.

With every fiber of my being, I want to march over there and sock the shit out of him, but I hold back. Ana already hates me. I don't want to give her yet another reason to stay away from me. So instead, I watch one of the most painful things that I've ever witnessed.

Jacobs walks her over to her Audi and then opens up the driver's side door for her. He then extends his arm and she falls in, hugging him back strongly.

 _Fuck – this hurts._

She then climbs into her car and Jacobs shuts her door before he trots off in another direction.

Even though it pains me to see her with someone else, I couldn't help but notice that there wasn't nothing… _extra_ about that hug. It seemed more _comforting_ than _passionate_. Perhaps they're just in business together. Jacobs does own a large digital accounting operation.

But why would Ana be in business with him? She's still a student.

 _Hmm…perhaps she just wants a job with him?_

I still can't envision what their exact business is with one another. Miss Steele hobbies include dancing and English lit. I _must_ know why she's specifically dealing with _him_.

The moment my wet pants slosh into my car seat, I phone Welch.

….

A day after getting my heart tugged out of my chest, I am back home in Seattle.

Since this is the first time that I've ever struggled with moving past a girl, these days, I'm more of a dick to everyone in my life than I've ever been. At least before I met Anastasia, my playroom was a place of refuge for me. There, I could relieve every bit of my stress.

These days, the playroom has been the bane of my very existence.

Today, I have _nothing_ to help me through this rut. I have this constant feeling of having heart surgery with an anesthetic. Since I haven't yet heard back from Welch, I can't help but assume that Ana has moved on and is now dancing for Dawson _Fucking_ Jacobs.

I finally decide to leave Grey House a quarter 'til eight and head for Canlis, one of Elena's favorite restaurants, to meet her there for dinner.

At the restaurant's podium, the line of people waiting to be seated is quite long. To my surprise, Elena is among them. She perks up the moment she sees me.

"Christian," she purrs. We hug.

"I thought you already reserved a table?" I say, confused as to why she's not already seated.

"Oh, I did. We have a table. I just wanted to make sure that you know where we were sitting."

I narrow my eyes at her. "I would've found you."

She starts past the crowd and I follow her. As I take in the surroundings, I notice that there's not a single vacant chair in the joint. _Does she have us sitting in the kitchen with the chef? I definitely wouldn't put it past Mrs. Lincoln._

As we journey all the way towards the back, I still don't spot a free table.

"We're just over here," she tells me, but I still don't see _how_. Finally, we reach a table where a young brunette is seated alone. Suddenly, her head rises up and she smiles at me, and then at Elena.

 _What the fuck's going on here?_

"Christian, I hope you don't mind, but I asked Susi to join us. Susi, this is Christian Grey. Christian… _Susi_."

The girl stands and then looks up at me before looking down towards the floor.

"Pleased to meet you, Sir."

I ignore her extended hand and I turn to glare at Elena.

"I know what you're doing. The answer is ' _no'_ ," I quietly growl through gritted teeth.

"Susi, my dear," Elena croons to the girl. "Can you please excuse us for ten, fifteen minutes so I can speak privately with Mr. Grey?"

"Sure, Ma'am" she says without hesitation. She doesn't let off that this is indeed a very uncomfortable situation for her. She's calm, cool, and collected, just as a top-notch submissive should be.

 _Too bad I don't want her – or anyone else like her, for that matter._

"I'll give you a call when you can return," Elena assures the girl right before leaves us alone.

"Elena…what the fuck is this?" I hiss.

"Calm down," she hums. "Why don't you have a seat. Let's talk."

"There's nothing to talk about. I thought we were just here catching up, shooting the shit…then you proceed to bring _her_ ," I say bitterly.

"We _are_ here to talk. Please…sit," she implores once more. I eventually take the seat opposite of where the brunette last sat. Elena takes the seat directly next to where the girl was. There's already a bit of chardonnay in the glass right in front her. She takes the stem into her delicate hands.

"I care about you, Christian. Look, your mother said that when she saw you last weekend, you looked absolutely _miserable_. I only wanted to cheer you up."

"I don't want a sub to _cheer me up_ ," I bite.

 _I want Ana._

"Christian, you _need_ this," she pleads. "You haven't been the same since Madison."

"I _need_ Anastasia."

The words simply come tumbling out of me. Elena is stunned.

"She's just a little girl, Christian. Susi is a _woman_. Susi can give you _everything_ that you need. She comes highly recommended in the community."

My eyes turn into daggers.

"You think that I give two shits about any of that?" I fire back.

"That girl messed your head all up. Just admit it and move on. She doesn't even want _you_. She doesn't desire your lifestyle. Hell, she may have enjoyed your _money_ at some point, but that's about it. You need something much deeper than that, Christian. You need to be in control," she coaches. "This _Anastasia_ girl has your mind all over the place."

I'm beginning to feel ill. Elena's words and her presence are doing everything _but_ soothing me.

"She got a taste of the lifestyle before New Year's, didn't she? Did she not like being spanked? That's probably why she left," she tosses at me.

I deliver a severe frown. "No. She liked it."

She hums in contemplation, waiting a beat before resuming her grating musings.

"So, what was it? Did she happen to find something that aided her in running away without even giving you a second look?"

The glimmer in Elena's eyes send a cold charge through me.

 _Why did she say that?_

"Elena," I say ominously.

"What?" she says, looking oblivious.

But I know this woman like the back of my hand. She's anything but _oblivious_.

The waiter comes back, but I quickly shoo him away. I'm certain that I wasn't warm and fuzzy when doing so.

"Christian, why'd you do that? I wanted to _order_ …"

" _What did you do_?" I say quietly, yet firmly. "Tell me."

She sighs loudly, and I know that she's probably done something unthinkable.

"You can either tell me what you did, or I can get in my helicopter, fly to Vancouver, and ask Anastasia myself." She gapes at me. "You know goddamn well that I would, so you might as well save me the trip and tell me right here and now."

Elena slowly lifts the glass of wine to her lips and takes a sip. After I watch it go down her throat, she clears it once more before speaking.

"A while ago, Madison told me about a video that you recorded of the two of you in the playroom back in July." My heart stops beating. "You placed it in a safe where anyone can find the written password to because you're simply too _'busy'_ to memorize it by heart. So, after you skipped out on the remainder of Christmas dinner, I decided to stop by your place on my way home."

 _Oh no.  
She didn't._

I'm beyond the state of fury as she continues in her maniacal tirade like the supervillain bitch that she is.

"I didn't think that Mrs. Jones would miss it over by the sparkling silver shoes in the subs' closet, but sometimes people who are extremely good at what they do can make simple mistakes."

My eyes practically shoot laser beams straight through hers and into her skull.

"Christian, she wasn't right for you," she purrs. "If she were, she wouldn't have left after watching that video. Instead, she would've learned from it and proceeded to be an even _better_ submissive than Madison, but she totally missed the mark."

I've had enough.

"Elena, consider this our final exchange. We are _no longer_ friends," I declare quietly, yet firmly.

"Christian," she gasps. "Don't be ridiculous."

"You brought about unnecessary damage by causing the only woman that I ever loved to walk out of my life."

After the words soar out of my mouth, Elena appears as if she's just been stabbed.

" _Love_?" she hisses. "You _loved_ her?"

"No…I'm sorry. I _love_ her," I amend.

"You don't even know what _love_ is," she slithers.

"Like I said, I'm done with this conversation and I'm done with _you_ ," I declare. "The next time you'll be hearing from me, it'll be through my lawyers. I'm not leaving you the salon chain. Instead, I'm burning each one down to the ground and liquidating all of the assets. You'll never be able to use the name _Esclava_ ever again…that much is true."

Uncharacteristic of Elena, she starts bawling right before my eyes, even causing some diners nearby to pay us special attention.

"Christian, _please_ don't do that," she begs.

"Too late," I hiss quietly. "It's done. Now get the fuck out of my face before I call my mother and tell her that you started fucking me back when I was fifteen."

"You _wouldn't_ ," she says with the fear of god in her eyes.

"Elena, you destroyed all of the hope I ever had when you did what you did. There's nothing I wouldn't do to see you suffer, even if that means coming clean to Grace."

I don't have to say another word before Elena stands. With tears streaming and pulling down her makeup with them, she turns around and walks away.

….

I get home in record time. After calling and calling Ana's cell phone on the way here, she doesn't pick up. This time, I don't leave a message. I need to talk to her directly. If she doesn't pick up, I've decided to fly to Vancouver first thing tomorrow.

But before I have Taylor ready Charlie Tango, I decide to try the phone line to Anastasia's apartment.

"Hello?" a quiet, tender voice answers.

 _It's her._ My heart stutters.

"Ana. Sweetheart," I say in a deep sigh of relief.

She sighs, but _not_ in relief. "Christian, I thought I…"

"Did you get the Valentine's Day arrangement that I sent last week?"

"Yes," she says, frustrated. "And the ones you've sent every single Monday."

"Good," I say. "I've been wanting to ask you how you like them, but that's not why I'm calling."

" _Okay_ ," she says, perplexed.

"I wanted you to know that I understand exactly why you left."

"Do you?" she replies in a voice drenched in skepticism.

"You saw the video of Madison and I in the playroom."

When she says nothing, I know that I'm exactly right.

 _Fuck!_

 _Elena…why? Why did you have to stick your nose somewhere that it didn't belong?_

"Ana, that happened way before I met you. That was my past, but I need you to know that I yearn for you to be my present… _and_ my future."

I hear her breathing picking up on the other end.

"Christian, I've gotta go…"

"Please, don't hang up," I plea with every fiber of my being. "I need to explain myself."

"I've been playing your voice message over and over again," she says, with a teary voice. My heart stops. "You know…the one where you finally come clean about _why_ you don't sleep with anyone and why you refuse to be touched. Look, I feel bad for you – I _really_ do. I hope that you're not just playing the sympathy card to make me soft, so you can drag me back through everything that I've worked so very hard to leave."

"Ana, that's the last thing I want," I say from the bottom of my heart. "I simply want you back. I'll do _anything_ to have you back, baby. These past fifty-five days have been _hell_."

She gasps. "Christian," she starts to weep. "Me coming back won't change anything. You still are who you are."

Reflexively, a sob escapes my throat. I'm startled by it. It's as if my own heart is crying out to hers.

"Elena Lincoln is an old friend of the family," I start. "She was the woman who came to Zion that night. The one who made you upset. Anyway, she planted that video for you to find it. She knew that it would make you run."

" _How_?" she says crying through a frustrated laugh. "How was she even able to do that?"

"My last submissive, the girl in the video, she told Elena about being recorded. It was something that both she and I agreed to at the time. Anyway, Elena then managed to find out from another submissive, one way before Madison, how to sneak into my apartment through the emergency stairwell. It was a stupid breach in my own ironclad security protocol, I know," I growl. "So, Elena got ahold of the disc in my safe, which has a password so long, that it's written down not far from where the safe is placed. She then took the disc and placed it where she knew you'd find it."

Ana sighs. "I…won't even start on how stupid it is to record yourself beating and fucking some girl senseless. I won't even go there," she groans. It smarts. "Nor will I tackle how ridiculous it is that _Mr. Careful_ himself didn't have the proper security in place for entrance into his apartment, _nor_ a secure password for the safe. But like I said, I'm not even going there."

Damn, this girl sure does know how to wound me.

"But one question. How did she know that I would be there?" she finally submits.

"Elena probably just took a chance being that I told her on Christmas that you and I were still together," I offer.

Ana scoffs in response. "And she obviously knew you well enough that you'd never allow me to sleep in your bed with you. She knew that I'd just end up being tossed in your _sub's_ room," she hisses.

I feel like she just yanked my heart out of my chest, ala Indiana Jones, and squeezed it.

"Elena had motive to do what she did," I groan. "Look…when I was fifteen and headed nowhere fast due to my extremely violent temper, she first introduced me to the lifestyle."

"What?" she gasps.

I go on to tell her about the first time that Elena slapped me, and then kissed me. I tell her about the first time we fucked. I then explain how Mrs. Lincoln was my entire world from the age fifteen to twenty-one.

 _Yes Ana, even I started out as a submissive._

"I can't believe what I'm hearing," she gasps in utter shock.

"Well, believe it. It's true. All of it. Besides my shrink, you're the only person I've ever told, Ana," I say earnestly.

"You've given that woman _way_ too much power," she rushes to respond. "That's why she's been a thorn in your side. Look, maybe if you finally opened up to your parents, she wouldn't lord so much power over you."

When her voice begins to crack towards the end, it's more than obvious to me that she's slowly falling apart.

"Baby… _don't_."

I have no idea why I utter those words, but it's all I can say at the moment. She and I then proceed to sit in deafening silence for what seems to be an eternity, but it may have actually only been seventy or so seconds.

"Ana, I want to see you."

"We _can't_ ," she whispers through her tears. I'm gutted. "We can't see each other anymore. I _need_ to heal, and so do you."

"Why can't we heal together?" I plead. "I want us to do this together. _Please_."

Her sobs become louder. "I can't see you anymore."

All of a sudden, I hear a click. Then soon, a dial tone. I immediately call her back, but the line is busy.

….

After a very restless night, I call Ana's landline the next morning only to find out that it's been disconnected. Her cell phone no longer works, either. I put Welch on the case, hoping that he can find another method for me to reach out to her.

In the meantime, I've resolve to take Charlie Tango to Vancouver sometime this weekend.

 _I need to see her._

….

Later that evening, I sit across the table from my mother. It's just her and I in the midst of dinner at an upscale Italian place not too far from my apartment.

"So, are you finally going to tell me what's wrong?" she prompts.

Slowly, I proceed to unfold my entire past with Elena. Somewhere through her tears and her sobbing, Grace demands to know why I've kept this from her for so, so long.

"Why haven't you ever told me, Christian?" Her expression is equally hurt and utterly pissed.

"I was just a young fucked-up boy who felt undeserving of love," I say quietly through gritted teeth.

"You don't know how much that breaks my heart. Your father and I loved you more than _anything_ , yet you refused to let us in," she snaps.

"I know that now," I say like a scolded little child. "But back then, I thought that Elena was the only person who truly understood me."

Grace growls. "I want to choke the living shit out of her."

I wince. I've never heard my mother speak so harshly before.

"I'm closing down all of the salons. It's a given that she'll retaliate," I say, bracing myself for the worst.

"When I'm done with her, shutting down the salons will be the _least_ of her troubles," she scoffs. "If that slut makes one sudden move, the entire world will know about this monster child molester. I'm hiring an investigator to see if she's ever done this to _other_ little boys."

 _Damn_ , hell hath no fury like a Dr. Grace Trevelyan Grey scorned.

"Do you remember that time years ago when Elena ended up in the hospital with broken bones and a battered face?" My mother nods wearing a scowl. "Linc did that to her after he caught us in bed together," I say, unproud.

When Grace clenches her napkin in both hands, along with her teeth, I know without a doubt that she's holding back her screams. Like pressed lemons, her eyes begin to release tears once more.

"But that's not why I've been in such a funk," I say, now truly coming clean. "Mom, I fell in love with a wonderful girl. Finally, for the first time in my life. I found someone who was more than just an object for sex."

Although this is true, it's apparent that I did a piss poor job proving this fact to Anastasia. I didn't expose my heart to her while I had her wrapped up in my arms. The moment Elena knew about how much power Ana had over me, she did everything within her power to sabotage us.

 _Now, Ana's not even speaking to me anymore.  
That is why I'm ripped apart into many, many pieces. _

When Grace gapes at me, I know that that the news about me being sexually active with females _and_ being in love with a certain one has completely thrown her for a loop.

Not too long after that, my mother comes around the table, slides down the booth and takes me into her bosom as if I was that small child again that she first found in the hospital…and I let her.

"We will fix this," she vows with every fiber of her being.

….

As I walk alone down the narrow hallway of Anastasia's apartment building early _Sunday morning_ , the lyrics of the same titled song by Maroon 5 clearly booms in my spirit. I shiver, anticipating the worst, but hoping for the best.

Maybe if she takes me back, she will dance to this song.

Oh, how I long for that day.

 _Will it be today?_

I arrive at her door. I hesitate. Then I knock.

I wait.

I knock again.

And wait.

 _I know she's home. Her Audi's here. Her roommate's Mercedes is here._

I knock again.

I wait once more.

Before I can raise my fist to knock again, the door swings open.

Glaring right at me is the woman who had the nerve to sit across from me at my own dining room table and ask if I'm gay.

From the foul expression on her face, it's more than obvious that she now has her answer.

"What do _you_ want?" she hisses.

"I need to see Ana," I reply low and steady.

"You know what? You have some nerve coming here. You fucked up her life…so you can go straight to hell!" she spits at me.

 _I fucked up her life?_

 _What exactly does she mean by that?_

I close my eyes and try my very best to steady my breath so that I don't run through this girl like an NFL linebacker. _She is truly testing my patience right now._

"I need. To talk. To Ana." I pause in between every other word so that she can get the full picture that I'm not fucking going anywhere until I see her roommate.

"Fuck you, asshole," she snarls before trying to close the door directly in my face. My foot catches it before it can, and I lose all sense of self-restraint. I forcefully push the door in, making Kavanagh tumble backwards, but she doesn't fall. I step into the living room.

"Hey Christian Grey! You can't come in here!" she screams out at me. But I know that this is simply her way of warning her friend of my presence. I ignore the blonde pain in my ass and start towards the hall of closed doors.

"Ana!" I call out. "Baby…we need to talk. _Please_ ," I say, now pleading with her.

"Get the fuck out of here, or I'm calling the cops!" Kavanagh squawks.

"Ana! Please!" I beg, my voice is now shaking.

 _Where the fuck is she?  
Is she locked up in her room with someone else?_

 _Is she with Jacobs?_

I feel a deadly chill running through my veins at the very thought.

If Jacobs comes sauntering out of one of these rooms, I have zero control over what I may do to him.

"I'm dialing right now! See! _Nine_ – _One_ – _One_!" Katherine Kavanagh barks out before placing the phone to her ear.

I couldn't give a fuck less. I'm concentrating on these doors to see which one belongs to Ana.

"She never wants to see you again!" Kavanagh seethes in the background.

"Ana…please, baby. I only came here to talk," I utter over Kavanagh's insane tirade.

"Get out!" she screams behind me as I continue ignoring her.

"Ana," I call out her name one more time.

"Yes, we have a male intruder at our apartment. He's been asked to leave _several times_ , and he refuses," Kavanagh spews. "Yes…his name is Christian Grey. He's been stalking and harassing my roommate and best friend. He's psycho!"

Soon, the annoying best friend is uttering her address and apartment number to whoever's on the other line.

"Ana… _please_ come out," I beg again.

"You hear him? That's him trying to force my friend to come out of her room. Could you please send the cops here right away?" Kavanagh then pauses before saying, "Great. Thank you."

" _Ana_ …"

"The cops are just up the block, so they'll be here in _thirty secon_ ds," she says, nearly spitting in my face. "This is your final chance to leave without handcuffs."

"I'm not leaving until I speak to Ana," I growl.

 _She needs to come out here so that we can talk._

"She doesn't want to talk to you!" she screams in my face.

Go take a hike, Kate.

On a whim, I decide to just let my words travel down the hallway and catch her right where she is, whether we're face to face, or not.

"Look…Ana…I took your advice. I came clean to my mother yesterday. About _everything_. I told her about Elena. I told her about _you_. I told her how the sun hasn't risen in my world since you went away…"

"Save it, Grey! The cops just pulled up."

"You need to know how much I _need_ you. Baby, _please_ …come out and talk to me," I beg from the depths of my soul. I'm here with my heart practically bleeding out all over the carpet, and Ana couldn't care less.

Neither can her friend.

"Eat a dick! You are _so_ full of shit!"

 _Shut up, Kavanagh, or I will shut you up._

Settle down, Grey. She's only protecting her friend…

 _…_ _from scum like you._

The very thought pricks me, but I press forward.

"Ana…let me see you…"

"That's him," I hear Kavanagh call out after a round of footsteps.

"Is your friend home?" a female cop asks.

"She locked herself in the bathroom."

I begin searching under the crevices of the doors until I see tile.

 _Bathroom._

I knock desperately.

"Ana!"

"Sir, please leave or we'll have to arrest you," the male cop threatens.

I cease to waver, even with my potential freedom on the line.

"I just need to speak to my girlfriend," I hiss at the cop.

"Excuse me, but she broke up with him almost _two months ago,_ and he absolutely _refuses_ to leave her alone!" _suffoKate_ yells out.

No doubt, The Queen of Irritation is itching to print out a retraction on the surprisingly glowing article that she wrote about me. _I swear, the moment that Ana and I get back together, she's history._

The officers begin closing in on me.

"Ana! I love you!" I cry out in desperation. " _Please_ …talk to me!"

After a few beats of silence, she still doesn't answer back.

"Well, obviously she hates your guts!" caws Kavanagh from the sidelines.

My heart lurches down into my gut just before the male officer places a gentle hand on my shoulder.

 _Maybe she's right._

Without any further convincing, I leave.

* * *

 ** _A/N: Well faithful readers, just like Christian, I haven't had a smooth month._**

 ** _Between working two jobs (still working my old job until they hire someone) and the bevy of traveling that I've done and am set to do in the coming weeks, I've missed my deadline with you last week._**

 ** _But fret not, I'm back in my groove and will be writing this week, trying my very best to remain on schedule with the last couple of updates for APD. Thank you so much for your patience and understanding during this very hectic time. Keep in mind that I always update my "Storie Tells All" Facebook group if there's ever a delay with a scheduled update. I also leave a note in the last chapter of the review section for those of you too shy for social media, so hold off on your "Where's the update?" reviews, because I never keep my faithful readers in the dark, haha!_**

 ** _In the next chapter titled 'Combustion', Elliot and Mia step in to plead on their brother's behalf. If you ask my prereader, she will tell you how excited I've been about this upcoming Elliot and Mia chapter. ;)_**

 ** _Until next time! – ST2_**


	19. Chapter 19 - Combustion

**Chapter 19** **–** **Combustion**

ANA

 _"_ _I love you!"_

Nearly a week has gone by since I finally heard him frantically shout out those three words that I longed to hear him say. _My heart still stutters at the recollection._ Earlier, I was in the bathroom and on my way out until I heard Kate angrily yell out his name. And then I heard the sound of his voice calling out for me.

 _"_ _Ana. Baby…we need to talk. Please."_

 _"_ _Ana! I love you!_ _ **Please**_ _…talk to me!"_

The memory still makes me quake. No matter how much I try to erase the incident, the haunting echo remains. I was literally a second away from opening the door and running out of there to see him, but a force much stronger than me was holding me back.

 _Oh…Christian, I love you, too_ – I immediately thought to myself after restraining a gasp at the time, while sitting on the toilet seat's closed lid. But immediately another thought followed.

 _He's not quite there yet._

 _He needs just a little more time._

I was never afraid that he'd get arrested by the officers in my apartment. He's _Christian Fucking Grey_ for goodness' sake. Hell, I'm certain that he has cops on his payroll. But what I was more scared of was him arresting my heart. If I walked out of that bathroom and given him exactly what he wanted, at the end of the day, he would've done away with me.

He made it loud and clear to me that what we had wasn't ' _forever'_.

What I've been doing to him over the past couple of months might seem cruel, but you don't just forgive a man who impulsively leaves you _every morning_ with a ' _thank you'_ note and a check for payment.

Regarding that last morning when he finally decided to sleep with me… _well_ , it happened just a little too late. It was simply his _Hail Mary_ play. He's not stupid. He knew that I was already one foot out of the door.

You don't simply forgive someone that your entire world revolves around who then proceeds to tell you to your face that he's _never_ going to marry you, _nor_ does he ever desire to have children with you at the end of this exhausting, heart retching merry-go-round ride.

And then there's the man who insisted on physically punishing me for simply protecting a friend. Granted, it was something that I allowed and perhaps even enjoyed the moment that it ended. However, thinking back on that night in context to what he's been trying to accomplish with me all along, and _then_ joining that thought to the images of him being beyond brutal and heartless with his former submissive on video ( _Madison, is it?_ ), it was clear as day what I'd be opening myself back to if I responded favorably to his pleas.

Still, none of those facts stopped my tears from falling every single night. It didn't stop my heart or my soul from yearning for him. _He was my Mr. Right._ But while my soul and head were both contemplating over taking him back, what was remaining of my heart immediately jumped into survival mode.

However, last Sunday, Christian didn't sound like the same man who once uttered to me – _"You knew exactly what this was"_. Still, I was quite leery of the man who'd shattered my heart. Did he genuinely have a change of heart over the past two months, or did he simply shout out _'I love you'_ in order to manipulate me once again?

I'm way too fragile these days to gamble away my entire life on just simple _words_. Up until this point, Christian has let his money and power do all of the talking for him anyway. I don't think I've actually seen his _true heart_ in action.

 _But_ , I can't ignore what he spoke in one of the few voice messages that I brought myself to listen to. It still rings loud and clear in my mind.

 _"_ _I've never felt this way about anyone, which is a surprise  
_ _considering how I behaved when you were last here."_

 _Has he truly made an about-face?  
Was that his heart talking? _

_Or was that just his head speaking – either one?_

I shake away the nauseating thought.

Yeah…they were just _words_.

 _Hold fast, Ana. You have two more months to go before you're done with school.  
Until then, you don't have time to even think about all that shit. _

These days, I need to focus my attention on classes and not wrap myself up in the tangled web that my heart's been spinning since the day that I met Christian Grey, my _Mr. Right_. Sadly, I wasn't his _Miss Right_ …I was Miss _Right Now_. And at some point, so was Madison. So were countless of other girls who he ended up letting go once he got bored with them.

So was Elena.

That sick broad obviously keeps a torch lit for the **_much_** younger guy being that she was hell bent on frightening me away. Well, she finally got her wish.

 _And I'm no longer chained to the melody._

Since leaving Seattle, I have not danced a single step. It's been months since I even moved my body to song. I haven't even as much as tapped my toe or wiggled my shoulders to any music that I've heard since I exited the building that manifests the word ' _Escala'_ high on top.

 _I'm never dancing again._

Suddenly, the first half of the somber chorus in Wham!'s _Careless Whisper_ slips into my mind like an earworm parasite.

 _Dancing was_ _ **our**_ _thing._

Betsy's been calling me for lessons, but I told her that I don't do that anymore.  
Hell, I can't even _think_ about dancing.

It'll just remind me of _him_.

* * *

CHRISTIAN

I didn't think that it was possible, but this past week was probably the worst of my life.

Last Sunday, I did something that I never thought I'd ever do. I put my heart out there on the line only for Anastasia Steele to stomp all over it. I never thought that she'd sink so low. Her blatant rejection was the main reason why I've always been fearful of giving my heart completely to anyone – not _a woman_ , not even _my family_ – until I met her.

And she's the reason why I'll never give it to anyone ever else again.

I fucked up, okay! I can admit that. But how long will she make me suffer? How long do I need to show her that I am willing to try things _her way_? Does she even care anymore? Is her heart so hardened that she can't accept that fact that I've actually changed?

These past two months have certainly done a number on me. Even Flynn has said as much. But Ana doesn't want to hear it. I've told her _every-fucking-thing_. I've even went as far as spilling my guts out to my mother as she suggested. Granted, Ana was annoyed when she told me to reveal my thirteen-year old sordid secret to my family, but I thought that it was sound advice at the time.

 _"_ _You've given that woman way too much power.  
That's why she's been a thorn in your side."_

Now, I'm regretting it. Grace has been riding my ass since I told her. Carrick, my father said he and three other men, _large_ men, literally had to peel my mother's hands from Elena's throat at a recent gala.

She had some nerve showing up there after my mother had given her an earful a few days prior. I'm certain Elena won't be making that mistake ever again. Apparently, my mother was paying very close attention to all of those MMA matches that my father, Elliot and I used to watch on pay per view since she pretty much mastered the submission move on Mrs. Lincoln.

 _"_ _She yelled some very irreverent things down Elena's throat while she was choking her. In essence, she told her in so many words to stay away from you and the rest of our family_ " – Carrick recapped to me afterwards. " _The society knew that she was bad news; the incident with your mother only made it more evident. No worries…no one knows exactly what took place between you and Elena, that much is true"_ – he added in reassurance.

If the news about Elena and my past relationship ever got out, even if the entire world ended up finding out about my penchant to bind and strike brunettes in my playroom, I'm not in the frame of mind to even give a shit.

What I care about more than anything else right now is that the person who matters most to me is still not speaking to me.

….

As I sit alone at the breakfast bar along with my fourth cup of coffee of the morning, I flash Taylor the evil eye. Extremely apologetic, he shrugs his shoulders and then turns on his heel to start towards the foyer.

 _What in the hell do my brother and sister want this early?_

I already know the answer to the question.  
It's all Grace's doing.

It's not long before Elliot and Mia come barreling in ahead of Taylor.

"For heaven's sake, Grey," scolds my little sister. "I thought you might've dropped off the face of the planet." She saunters into the kitchen area before our brother does and wraps her arms around me from behind as I sit. I close my eyes, pained.

"Holy hell…you look like shit, man," groans my older brother, who's now facing the both of us from the other side of the breakfast bar.

"It's good to see you too, Elliot," I murmur.

When I turn to my left and see my sister's puppy dog expression, I wonder if my mother ended up revealing all of the sordid details to them as well. However, as they continue to quiz me, it's evident that they are still clueless as to what's going on.

"Why haven't you been answering our calls? Why haven't we seen you for over two months? What's been going on with you?" Mia says in rapid fire. I don't respond, yet she continues on. "I've missed you so much, so I made Elliot come with me to check in on you."

"Dude, I could've still been in bed resting up for some lucky young lady tonight, yet here I am on an early Saturday morning, visiting _your_ depressed ass," quips Elliot. My quiet, irritated mood doesn't change. I am numb.

"Cut it out," Mia admonishes him.

 _I don't have the energy for this right now._

 _I simply want to be left alone._

"Damn, this _really_ is serious," Elliot changes his tune. I look up at him and catch his shocked expression. Mia pulls up a stool and slides it closer to me. Elliot rounds the bar and pulls up a chair to my other side. "What happened, bro?"

"Nothing," I sigh before taking a sip from my mug.

"Yeah right," he scoffs.

"Is Mrs. Jones here? Have you eaten? Your face is getting _really_ thin," Mia says, deeply concerned.

"Gail's off on the weekends," I remind her.

"So, what have you eaten today?" she asks.

I raise my coffee mug up to her before taking another sip.

"You need **_food_** , Christian," Mia frowns. Without saying another word, she stands and heads towards the fridge. She begins pulling things out – ham, eggs, milk, cheese, bell pepper, tomato, onions, mushrooms…

I turn my head as Elliot stands.

"I'm about to get me some of that coffee. You want more?" he offers.

I sigh. _What are they doing here?_ I give him a single nod and he makes way over towards the coffee maker.

….

"That was a fantastic French omelet, sis," Elliot praises while rubbing his belly.

"Thanks, Mia," I say quietly before kissing her on the forehead.

"Anytime. _So_ …are you finally going to tell us why you've been more of a hermit than usual, or _what_?" she says snippily.

My eyes sink down to the half-eaten omelet on my plate. This might be the most I've eaten in a single sitting since Ana left me. I've probably lost a total of fifteen pounds – both in fat and muscle since January, which also hasn't gone unnoticed in the office. My _number-two_ in command, Ros Bailey has certainly made it known that she doesn't like where I've been headed from a reactionary standpoint.

 _"_ _I don't know what's been going on with you but make sure that you give me power of attorney at GEH before you decide to go completely mad and run this company down to the ground"_ – she teased one day. However, I'm not completely certain that she was necessarily _teasing_. I've been so fucked up over these past two months, and Ros has been the only one who dares to even bother me at all. No one knows the moment when I may decide to blow a fuse and curse out the entire boardroom to high heaven.

 _"_ _What the hell is wrong with you?!"_

It's been Ros' ongoing mantra since January. She finds herself constantly repeating the same phrase to me right after I lose my shit on my staff for no good reason. On a particular day, I might not like the way my head of facilities breathes while we're gathered in the boardroom, for example…and soon, I'm shooting fire down his neck.

 _"_ _I'm sorry. I'm handling it right now. I have two hours with Flynn this afternoon"_ – I always find myself saying back to Ros. But that same response won't placate my siblings. They know me way better than my VP does. Me pushing Mia and Elliot away will only make them come down on me even harder.

They were there during the days when I would physically strike others at school who'd back me up against the wall. Mia and Elliot were there when I'd build a bubble around myself and wouldn't let anyone else in, save for my little sister whenever she pushed hard enough. I could never resist the little black-haired girl with the great big eyes. She's always had this way of breaking down my barriers.

 _She still does._

"Christian," Mia says, gently placing a hand on my shoulder. My eyes are still stuck on my plate.

"I fell in love," I say under my breath.

"You _fell in love_?" Elliot snorts from the other side. "With what? _Work_?"

"She left me," I add.

" _She_?" I hear the disbelief in my idiotic brother's voice.

"Oh, my goodness, Christian," Mia says, scooting her stool even closer to mine.  
"I am _so_ , so sorry."

"Wait a minute…you just got dumped by a chick? _Who_?" Elliot squawks in total disbelief. "Nobody knew that you were dating anyone, much _less_ …"

"Elliot," Mia snaps, and he immediately shuts up. _Thank god._

My sister maneuvers her face downward and intercepts my line of sight between the plate so that she can look me directly in the eye. Eventually, I bring up my head, and she sits back erect in her chair.

"What's her name?"

"Ana," I swallow. "Anastasia."

 _And she was the best thing that ever happened to me._

"At least her name sounds hot," Elliot remarks. Mia and I ignore him.

"Where did you meet her? At work?" my sister inquires.

"She was at work. She used to be a waitress," I tell her.

"How long? How long were you together?"

"We met last September. We became… _more_ than just friends in October."

"And when did she leave you?"

"New Year's Day."

All the breath leaves me at the bitter memory of waking up in her room all alone.

"Holy shit, bro," Elliot says, genuinely empathetic. "I'm sorry, man."

"Why haven't you ever introduced us to her?" Mia challenges.

I take in a deep breath and shrug my shoulders. "I was still trying to figure out what we were. _I_ …I've never been in that position before."

"What position?" Elliot interjects from over my shoulder. I don't fully swivel around in his direction. Instead, I tilt my head his way.

" _She_ …she didn't know how much I truly loved her."

Hell, _I_ didn't know how much I truly loved her.

"Did you _tell_ her?" My little sister's glare cuts me like a knife.

"I tried last Sunday when I went to see her, but it was much too late by then." I close my eyes at the painful memory of her ignoring my pleas. I had no doubt that she was home at the time while I was yelling like a fool down that hallway.

 _A fool in love._

"She never wants to see me again," I add, sadly now shifting my eyes from Mia, to Elliot, and back to Mia again.

" _Oh_ , Christian," Mia coos, wrapping her arms around me once more. "I'm so sorry."

 _Who is this pitiful sap overtaking me?_

I've never been the type to pour my heart out to anyone. Even in past sessions with Flynn, he'd almost have to pull my teeth to get a straight answer out of me. It has taken us many years to get to the place where I am comfortable enough to express everything that I am feeling to him at any given time. After that, I didn't feel the need to spill my guts to anyone else, much less my own family.

But here we are.

"She doesn't want to see you again?" gasps Elliot. "Fuck, bro – what in the hell did you do to her?"

I turn and look him straight in the eye.

"She found an old video of me having sex with an ex."

"Holy _shit_!" he gapes at me as if I just grew a third eye. "You've been fucking all this time?! Do you still have the video?" he chuckles.

"Elliot! Cut it out!" snaps Mia. Immediately after reprimanding him, her expression softens as she refocuses her attention on me. "Wow."

"But why would she care so much about old news?" Elliot chimes.

I'm not even going there. I _can't_ go there. Even Grace still doesn't know about my playroom.

All I do is shrug my shoulders in response.

"Hey, do you think it would be okay if I go and talk to her?" my sister says out of nowhere. My eyes widen in shock. "That's if it's okay with you."

This is a terrible idea. But at this point, I have nothing left. Ana's no longer taking my calls. She's not answering any of my emails. She's banned me from ever seeing her in person. I don't want to make this even more uncomfortable for her.

But I'm fucking desperate. My heart hasn't seen sunlight since she left. I'm empty. Void. There's no end to this wretched perpetual sadness, this… _ache_ until Anastasia Steele comes hip-rocking back into my life. I need to see her dancing again. I need to touch her again.

 _I need her to let me love her._

"I think that she's seeing someone else," I groan past the knot in my stomach.

"Damn," Elliot sighs.

"How do you know that? Did you see her with another guy?"

"They were out having dinner together over a week ago," I grumble, feeling my teeth clenching at the thought of Ana being intimate with Dawson Jacobs.

"How you know?" Elliot asks.

"I saw them."

"You followed her," Mia says sharply.

" _Well_ …"

"You absolutely followed that poor girl," my sister remarks, reading me like a fucking book. "How do you know she's seeing him? Were they kissing?"

"Well… _no_."

"Did they ride together?"

"They didn't."

"See," Mia says, satisfied with herself. "Let me talk with her."

"You want her phone number?" I squint.

"No, I want to meet her in person. I need to look the girl who finally stole my brother's heart in the eye," she beams lovingly. A wave of nausea comes over me once again. "Where does she live?"

"Vancouver. She's a senior there at WSU."

"Liking them young, I see," quips Elliot. Mia reaches over and whacks him hard on the leg. "Ouch!" he winces.

"Are college girls beneath you, Lelliot?" I finally strike back at my annoying older brother.

"Now, I never said that," he quickly acquiesces.

I was getting ready to call him out on his bullshit had my slutty brother said otherwise.

"She's probably the same age as I am," Mia guesses.

"She is," I confirm.

"For your information, Elliot Grey, girls are way more mature at twenty-one than boys are."

"Agreed," I cosign. "And I'll add that Ana's been the more mature one in our relationship."

"Wow," Elliot winces. "Mia, if you're going to Vancouver, I'm tagging along. I need to know if this girl truly exists." Our sister shakes her head in exhaustion. "I also want to hear the sex tape play-by-play straight from the horse's mouth," he says with a devious smirk. I'm livid.

"You're _not_ going," I growl.

"Christian – I think that it would be good for Elliot to come along," Mia argues. I'm stunned. "That way, Ana can meet both of your siblings and we can present a united front. We'd be excellent character witnesses on your behalf. We could really play on her heartstrings," she winks. "Heck, she'd take you back in no time."

I very much doubt that there's anything that anyone can do that would make Ana take me back. But for some reason, I'm not quite yet willing to throw in the towel just yet.

"Fine," I groan. Right away, I turn to face Elliot and flash him a stern look. "Don't fuck this up for me."

"Bro, I can't do any worse than you've already done for yourself," Elliot says with a chuckle.

"Touché," I sigh.

* * *

ANA

 _It's now the tenth Sunday morning since we've broken up._

I sit in the living room with my mug of _extremely weak_ English Breakfast tea and a book, wearing my very large and comfy WSU Cougars gray sweatshirt. Suddenly, a rap on the door startles me.

 _Oh god – who now?_

"How in the hell are people getting past the main secured door?" snaps Kate. She immediately springs away from her laptop at the small kitchen table and darts towards the door before I can even think to move first.

 _Please…don't be Christian._

 _Don't let this be a repeat of last week._

Right away, Kate places a single eye over the peephole.

"Who the hell are these people? Jehovah's Witnesses?" she murmurs.

"Don't answer it," I whisper loudly.

Ignoring me as she always does, she unlatches the door and lifts the chain from it before cracking it open.

"Yes?" she answers.

"Hi… _Kate_ , is it?" a gentle female voice floats in the air.

I see Kate's head move slightly backwards in surprise.

"I'm Mia. This is my brother, Elliot."

 _Mia?  
Elliot?_

Holy shit. It can't be.

"We're here to see Ana. Is she home?"

Christian's brother and sister? _Here_? Outside of my door?

He'd talk about them to me all the time. And here they are, just right outside of my apartment. Suddenly, I begin to fear the worse.

 _Oh my god, did something happen to him?_

I can feel the air leaving my body. When Kate turns to look at me, she immediately sees the dread etching my face. I motion her to let them in. Kate nods and she steps aside.

"Come in."

In walks a beautiful, tall black-haired girl with her tall, blond and handsome much older brother.

"Is he _okay_?" I say to the two strangers, nearly quivering in extreme fear.

"Oh, _n_ …no," Mia gapes, now standing just inside of the door with her brother. Kate closes it behind them. "Christian is fine. I mean, he's _okay_. He's _not_ …there's nothing wrong. That's not why we're here," she bumbles, now chuckling nervously. "You obviously know who we are." Although her, smile can certainly light up a dark room, I can't help but remain in perpetual darkness since that's been my permanent state since the New Year.

" _Christian_?" Kate frowns harshly. "Christian Grey? Do you two work for him?"

"Hell no," Elliot laughs. "He's our brother." Kate winces and I suddenly see her sights taking a special interest in Christian's older brother. I roll my eyes at her.

"Is it okay if we sit down and talk for a moment?" Mia asks me.

"Sure – I mean the two of you came all this way. Unless you took a helicopter here," I say, shrugging my shoulders.

"No, we drove," Mia quickly clarifies.

"We're not _lame billionaires_. Our brother is," quips Elliot. Kate snorts and he smiles back at her.

 _This is not going to end well for them, either._

….

"So, when everyone else was terrified to climb up that tree in our grandfather's apple orchard and fetch the elderly neighbor's trusty feline, Christian didn't even break a sweat," Elliot beams.

Curse you Grey siblings for reminding me of how amazing your brother is.

 _Damn them._

"That cat started to scratch the shit out of him, but when Christian's eyes landed on it like two laser beams, that beast quickly turned into a baby kitten. I'm not even lying," he says to his captive audience of me and Kate.

"I was only about three or four at the time, but I still remember that day," Mia chuckles.

"Anyway…mom baked him an apple pie after he rescued that cat. And of course, I ate most of it," Elliot concludes the tale.

Kate and I laugh.

"So enough about your brother," my roommate interrupts as she turns her entire body towards him on the living room sofa. "You're in Seattle too, right?" He nods with a sly smirk.

 _I know that fucking smirk.  
It's bad news._

"I'm moving to Seattle in May," Kate says proudly.

Elliot then turns to me. "What about you, Ana?"

My eyes immediately fall to my folded legs on the sofa. "No."

" _No_?" he responds, surprised.

"She _was_ ," Kate answers for me. " _Until_ …" She trails off and doesn't finish. From the looks on Mia and Elliot's faces, she doesn't need to. They know exactly why.

"I think you should give my brother another chance," Elliot says to me outright.

Kate's expression soon turns harsh, but before she can open her mouth, I hold my hand up and stop her. I tell her with just my gaze that she can't say anything to anyone about what I've told her, not even Christian's siblings.

"My brother has been a total mess since you left," Mia says sweetly. "I wished that he'd introduced you while you were still together. I'm very upset at him for keeping your relationship a secret from us."

I clear my throat. "What we had was extremely… _complicated_."

There's that word again.

"Like fuck buddies?" Elliot blurts out of nowhere. I watch as Mia cuts him with her eyes. Kate covers her mouth with both hands. Elliot immediately remembers himself. "I'm _sorry_ ," he sighs, but I already feel beyond guilty because what he said was absolutely spot on.

 _In the end, Christian and I were just way too different.  
It's for the best that we both move on. _

"Look, I'm sorry to hear that your brother is hurting," I say, although my tone fails to convince even _me_ that I'm being genuine. My hunch is evident in the way that Mia looks me square in the eye afterwards.

"I've never seen my brother so destroyed," she says ominously.

Her revelation pierces me to the core.

"Sadly, I have," Elliot interjects. "Back when he was first adopted." He looks at his sister. "Before you were even born. We never talk about those days," Elliot says sadly under his breath.

 _Oh no._

"Well, I wasn't around to see that, therefore I can honestly say that I've never seen my brother in this way," Mia holds firm. The way she looks at me, it's as if she's heaping all of Christian's guilt and shame on my shoulders.

 _I will not carry his burden._

 _I am_ _ **not**_ _his personal Jesus._

"I know about the that video you saw," Mia says to me. "The one that made you leave. The sex video…with his ex."

I gape at her.

 _Holy shit…they know?!_

"What exactly do you know about it?" I raise back to her.

"I know that it took place long before he met you," Mia says tenderly. "He told us that he's not even that guy anymore."

 _Yeah, right._

I roll my eyes at the very premise.

 _They didn't see him wielding a cane across my backside over two months ago._

"Christian is madly in love with _you_. That's what we came here to tell you," Mia pleads. My heart plunges into the abyss.

 _God – why is this happening to me?  
What have I done to deserve such torture?_

"He said that himself when he forced his way into our apartment," Kate hisses. "So, I don't know why he sent _you_ to do his dirty work for him."

"Ana didn't come out when he pleaded with her to talk with him," counters Mia. "And by the way, Christian didn't send us. I offered to come here and speak to Ana."

 _Is that the honest truth?_ – I think to myself. Mia and Elliot don't know me from Adam. So why are they here? Well, obviously they are here to support their brother. They really don't give a shit about what happens to me at the end of the day. I'll just be one more lost girl in Christian Grey's trail of broken hearts.

"So, about that tape…" Elliot starts, but Mia glares at him and he pulls back right away. I can tell that Kate is chomping at the bit to chat him up, but it's rather apparent that Christian's brother and sister have no clue what exactly took place in that video. So instead of harping on such a sore subject for me, I skip several steps ahead and bring my main point home.

"You've obviously heard your brother's side of things, but you have _no clue_ what I've been going through in the meantime," I stress to both of the Greys. "I can't let myself go back to that place. I totally lost myself while I was with him. Now, I'm trying to find _me_ again," I say, trying very hard to silence a sob.

Both Mia and Elliot now appear to take pity on me.

"I hope that you both can understand," I quietly add. "I love your brother…I _really_ do. But if I took him back now, it wouldn't resolve anything. In fact, it would only make matters worse."

"And he loves _you_. So, what's the problem?" Elliot says, almost a little too defensively, but out of nowhere, Mia springs forth from the sofa and wraps her arms around me, stunning me.

"I get it," she speaks quietly into my ear.

 _Maybe she does care what happens to me in the end._

"This whole situation is fucked up," I hear Elliot sigh in agony in the background.

Amen, ( _Christian's_ ) brother.

….

Before the Grey siblings leave the apartment, I catch Elliot slipping something into Kate hand. Apparently, Mia sees it too and she gives her brother a whack across the back of the head. Kate laughs but still manages to wink at Elliot as he and his sister exit.

The sinking feeling inside my gut is enough for me to ignore the blatant flirting that took place between my best friend and my ex's brother. I can't help but feel like a terrible person after telling Christian's siblings that there is no way in hell that I'm dealing with their brother ever again, in spite of their pleas.

 _I might feel awful about it, but in the end, I'm doing what absolutely needs to be done._

* * *

CHRISTIAN

Since yesterday, I've been trying to call Elliot and Mia to see how things went over in Vancouver with Ana. I waited at home with bated breath, hoping that someone… _anyone…_ would call me with an update.

As time progressed, I became more and more anxious. _What the fuck's taking them so long to get back to me!_ – I thought to myself. I started to get angry. My mind then went: _They know that I'm fucked up in the head, so why are they making me wait like this!_

But if I learned nothing else in the course of these two shitty months, I've mastered the art of patience. Sometimes, you just need to glue your ass to the seat on those days when you feel like jumping in your car and handling the situation yourself. However, I was quick to remind myself that I had failed when I tried talking to Ana last week, and the reason why my brother and sister haven't gotten back to me is because they are actually making more headway than I did.

Also, my peace of mind was aided by seeing on the tracking app that Mia and Elliot had been at Ana's apartment for a little over two hours. Once they left the apartment, I began to light up Mia's phone like Christmas.

 _"_ _Christian, give me time to call you back…okay?" Mia sassed._

 _"_ _So? What happened?"_

 _"_ _We can't talk over the phone…"_

 _"_ _Good, so you're on your way over here."_

 _"_ _No, we're_ _ **not**_ _on our way over to your place," she said too quickly.  
"We're headed home."_

 _"_ _Settle down, pal," I heard Elliot's asshole cackle in the background._

 _"_ _It'll be super late by the time we get to Seattle,  
and Elliot has to work in the morning.  
Look, we'll meet you for dinner tomorrow night  
and tell you everything," she said._

 _"_ _Tomorrow night?!" I gaped with a raised voice.  
"Hell, just give it to me straight right now.  
Is she taking me back, nor not?"_

 _Mia sighed. "Let's not do this right now, okay?  
I'm __**so**_ _tired."_

 _Like hell she was._ In that second, I knew I wouldn't even be able to catch the tiny wink of sleep that I've been getting these days until I knew exactly where I stood with Ana.

 _"_ _You did good, little bro!" I heard Elliot call out beside Mia.  
"Ana's a jewel. She's beautiful. Smart.  
That girl's a keeper.  
Too bad you fucked it all up."_

I recall the very moment when all the air left my lungs.

 _I fucked it up?  
For good?_

 _"_ _Shut up, Elliot!" Mia barked._

 _"_ _Put Elliot on the phone," I growled._

 _"_ _No…he's driving."_

 _"_ _Put him on speaker then, dammit!  
If you don't feel like talking, he obviously does!"_

 _"_ _Christian…settle down._ _ **Please**_ _,"  
my sister said to me in that lion tamer voice that she has._

My sister's charm was starting to work on me too, until my mentally challenged brother had to go ahead and open up his big annoying mouth.

 _"_ _Is he going ape shit again?" he says in a low voice, but I still heard him._

I felt another spark of anger rising up in me as Mia shushes him.

 _"_ _Christian, you are going to have to trust me," she started.  
"If you love Ana very much, which I believe you do,  
everything's going to turn out fine.  
But right now, I don't have the energy to  
have this very complex conversation with you."_

 _Complex?  
What's so fucking complex about it? _– I thought.

 _"_ _We'll meet you over at Joe's for dinner and beers  
at six tomorrow night. Okay?"_

I started to hem and haw in frustration, but I eventually give in to my sister's unreasonable whim.

Needless to say, I was the first to arrive at _Joe's_ not too far from Grey House. Granted, I was thirty minutes early. It wasn't like I was super productive at work anyway since I couldn't think of anything else _but_ my fate with Ana.

Something on the inside of me tells me that I'm not going to hear what I want to hear. If things were on the up and up with Ana and me, my sister either would have told me to call Ana, or Ana would have called me. Neither happened.

So now, I'm fully expecting my sister and my brother to come in here at six and commence _psych watch_ after they tell me that Ana turned them down flat also. Why else would Mia insist on waiting nearly twenty-four hours later to _break it to me gently_? My sister knows exactly what she's doing.

By the time the pair come breezing into the restaurant- _slash_ -microbrewery, I'm beyond annoyed. But then I witness their pitiful expressions and my annoyance turns into panic.

 _Oh no.  
It's even worse than I originally thought._

Mia pulls the empty chair next to me even closer and she sits. She places an arm around my shoulders, while Elliot scoots up closer to the table from the other side of us. He presses his lips firmly together as if he has no words to say. Just then, the waiter comes by.

"I'll take your best IPA," Elliot mumbles to him.

"Hard cider, please," Mia says, forcing her flat lips into a half smile.

"And give him another one of those," adds Elliot, gesturing towards my empty glass of pinot noir. "Fuck it, bring the whole bottle. I'll even help you drink it," he says after shifting his eyes to me. I then look up at the waiter and nod silently in agreement. The waiter hops to it.

Yeah, I'm fucking drinking wine at a micro-brewery. Overall, I'm not really a beer drinker. However, there is one beer in particular that I enjoy, but you can only get it over at a restaurant at The Sound, where my boat is currently docked.

 _I was so looking forward to taking Ana there._

I've dreamt of her dancing on the deck of _The Grace_ to Aaliyah's _Rock the Boat_.  
Now, that probably will never happen.

"So…give it to me straight," I say, scanning my eyes across both of my siblings.

"You're fucked," Elliot says. Mia gapes at him. "Whatever it is you did to her, she refuses to get past it."

 _Just as I suspected._

My stomach drops to my feet.

Elliot then smirks. "Hey, but the good news is that I get to hang out with Ana's friend, Kate once she moves to Seattle in a couple of months. She's smoking hot."

Right away, I see red.

 _Are you fucking kidding me?!  
Typical Elliot. I knew that it was a mistake to send him along._

 _Asshole._

Ignoring my glaring at Elliot, which by the way doesn't faze him the slightest bit, Mia squeezes my shoulder.

"Ana seemed genuinely hurt when we talked to her. I think you need to give her a little more time to heal before you try reconciling with her again."

" _More time_?" I gape at my sister. "It's been _two fucking months_. How much _more time_ does she need?"

She sighs. "Now _that_ , I don't know. But what I _do know_ is that she's not ready to take you back right now. She's trying to discover who she is again. She said that she lost herself while you were together."

I'm gasping for air at my sister's devastating words. My face shifts downward as overwhelming thoughts begin to parse my mind.

 _More time?  
I don't know if __**I**_ _even have_ _ **time**_ _._

Every day, I feel like I'm dying a slow, painful death on the inside the longer that Ana and I are apart. I've _never_ experienced this feeling. I fucking can't function like this. I don't see an end to this ever-present ache inside of my chest. It's absolutely brutal.

"Stop shutting us out," Mia says to me. "You're going to need us while Ana's still figuring things out."

"But you already said that she doesn't want me back," I sigh. "What's the fucking use?"

"Bro – quit talking like that," Elliot chimes in. "I've never known you to give up. All you're doing is just falling back for a little while longer. I looked Ana in the face. She loves you, bro. That much is true."

I gasp. "She said that?"

"Yes," Mia says, now beaming. "She actually told us that she loves you."

A spark of hope tries to ignite within, but then a tidal wave comes crashing down over it.

"Then, why won't she have me?" I say as my voice starts to crack. I clear my throat and wash it down with a quick swig of water.

"I already told you…she felt that she lost herself when you two were together. Look, Ana and I are the same age, so I get where she's coming from. Relationships are complicated, especially for someone our age. Heck, at least she knows what she wants to do when she graduates. Look at me – I'm back and forth in Paris trying to find a non-arrogant chef to take me under his wing, yet I'm not further along in my quest than I was over a year ago," my sister groans.

Typical Mia. Shifting the story so that it's all about _her_ now. Thankfully, she catches herself and shifts the topic back to Ana.

"Anyway, she says she's moving to Georgia with her mother after graduation. She's not going to Seattle with Kate."

I sigh and lower my head into my fingers before tugging them across my scalp.

"I figured as much," I murmur.

"She can still change her mind," Elliot adds.

"I don't think she will," I'm quick to say before bringing my head back up.

"I'm hopeful, at least," he shrugs. "You should be too. Look…the love's already there, man. Now all you need to do is cultivate and water that shit."

I smirk at him. "How poetic of you."

"Why, thank you," he quips, followed by a click of the tongue and a cheesy point of the finger. The waiter returns with our drinks and then promises to return later to retrieve our food order.

"Elliot's right," Mia says. "Ana's having just as a miserable of a time as you are. It's not easy for her by any stretch of the imagination. So, while she's finding out who she is, you need to figure out how to be a better man for _her_. You understand what she needs. While you wait, why don't you think about what went wrong the first time and try not to make the same mistakes again."

"That's assuming she'll give me another shot," I say, highly discouraged.

"I think she will," my sister says, appearing beyond hopeful. "And you'd better not give up on her. Ana is an amazing girl, and I want her as a sister."

" _Here, here_ ," Elliot peps, raising his glass.

I want to sink into my chair and disappear. While my sister and brother are being all hopeful in spite of Ana turning them down last night, I'm feeling like I am going to have to slowly climb to the top Mount Everest without any equipment, with just bleeding hands and feet, in order to get her back.

Mia and Elliot have no clue how I once made it my sole purpose to groom Anastasia to become my submissive this coming May. Now it's March and she's no longer in my life. It has taken me two fucking months to realize that I didn't need her in my playroom.

 _No_ , I need Anastasia Steele in my _world_. She's the one person who has finally brought meaning to my life. Without her by my side, I'm just aimlessly going through the motions. Without Ana, I'm simply a machine without a heart.

I never knew that I even had a heart until she showed me where it resided.

Now, my heart remains in her hands.

….

The moment I meet Taylor at the car after dinner, I tell him to arrange for Charlie Tango.

"I am going to work out of Portland for the rest of the week," I inform him.

If Ana won't talk to me, I at least need to see that she is doing okay.

….

Late Tuesday afternoon, I change out of my suit and dress inconspicuously in jeans, a t-shirt and black leather jacket before heading to WSU. I eventually locate Ana coming out of the liberal arts building and I follow her around campus. She's wearing a dark TNF winter jacket and gray leggings with Chucks.

 _Fuck, she's so beautiful._

 _I've really missed her._

I have to restraint myself from making myself known to her. I know exactly how this will end once I say her name. She'll call me a stalker, which I am, and then she'll contact campus police. I definitely don't need the dean to find out that I'm infatuated with one of his students. As a benefactor here, that's certainly not a good luck.

So, why do I follow her? I just need to feel a part of her life, someway, somehow. Even if she's walking from one class to the next, or if she's having lunch with Kate, I want to see her living life, even if I'm excluded.

I wonder if she still hangs out with the girls from Zion. Deep down, I hope that she's still taking dance lessons with Betsy Davis. If it's not for me, then I hope that she's doing it for herself. Ana's such a fucking gifted dancer. There's no one who commands the floor like she does.

As I trail many paces behind her, I expect Ana to enter another building alone. But _no_ … coincidently, she greets Betsy Davis and a guy who looks to be her husband, Joshua Davis just outside of the building. Ana and Betsy hug tight, and then she quickly hugs Mr. Davis. The three of them then proceed onward into the building. I wait a few beats before going in.

 _I remember coming here with Ana once.  
We had lunch together here. _

The bittersweet memory provokes the ongoing ache within.

Soon afterwards, I watch from a small table across the way as the three of them gather inside of a booth with their coffees or teas, and pastries. Ana and Betsy share a bench, while Mr. Davis sits across from the two girls.

I witness Ana talking to them in great detail. After a while, her once upbeat expression morphs into a crestfallen one, and it pierces me.

 _Is she talking about me?_

Even though she's distraught, she's extremely descriptive with her hand gestures and small movements of her head here and there. Unfortunately, not only am I too far away to hear the conversation, but I'm too far to even read lips. After a while, Ana stops talking, and Betsy pulls her into her arms for a comforting hug. Betsy's husband passes Ana a napkin and then he picks up talking from there.

 _Hell, I hate seeing Ana like this.  
I wish that I could hold her, too._

Pretty soon, Betsy begins to nod at her husband's words nonstop. The entire time, she doesn't let Ana go from her single-armed grasp. She makes certain that she turns and checks on Ana every time her husband makes a seemingly important point. And when Ana doesn't respond the way Betsy wants her to, she interjects as if she's further elaborating on her husband's point.

Soon, I see a teary-eyed Ana nodding in understanding.

 _What in the hell's going on here?_

I wished there was some way that I can find out what's happening here.

Later that day, I decide to call Welch to see if he can find out what dealings the Davises have with Anastasia as of late. Obviously, that conversation over coffee and tea wasn't about dance lessons if Joshua Davis was involved. If I'm not mistaken, he's a reputable attorney in the Portland area.

….

Wednesday afternoon, I finally find Ana leaning against a tree while talking on the phone. Suddenly, she's crying her eyes out. I feel my throat closing up as I struggle seeing her like this.

 _Baby, what's wrong?_

I wonder if she has enough cash in her bank account since she's no longer working.

 _I must look into that._

"Mr. Grey?"

I'm startled as I turn my head and focus my eyes to the source of the voice. It's one of the heads of the agriculture program here at WSU. _Fuck, I need to do damage control._

"Victor."

"Hey, I didn't know you'd be on campus today. The department's secretary didn't inform us…"

"I didn't tell her. Look, do you and the team have time now to review the timeline of the new facility?"

"Absolutely," he says enthusiastically. "Maybe we can have lunch brought in."

"Sounds good."

….

Unfortunately, I had to leave a distraught Ana behind earlier and follow Victor back the current program's building and talk shop. And since I was nearly caught following my ex-girlfriend around campus, I decided to put together a more _stealth team_ to keep an eye on Ana and report back to me on a daily basis. I can no longer been seen here, or Ana will know about it.

While in the backseat of my car heading back to SNA Corp., I call Andrea, my PA back in Seattle.

"Mr. Grey?"

"Andrea, I need you to deposit fifty grand into Anastasia Steele's checking account."

"Sure. It's still plenty of time for the deposit to reflect in her account today."

"Good. Thanks," I say before hanging up.

….

It's been almost two weeks since I deposited that money into Anastasia's account, and she hasn't as much as called to bitch me out about it.

I've still been sending her flowers every Monday. In fact, she just got a delivery yesterday. And yet, I haven't heard from her.

With each passing day, I'm feeling that my chances of her taking me back are becoming bleaker; but I don't give up. I'm constantly checking to see if she's okay. To my delight, my team has reported that she hasn't seen Dawson Jacobs since the last time I saw them together. I've also been checking phone records. Ironically, I've been avoiding scrubbing her emails.

 _Emails will be my last resort._

In my main office at Grey House, my cell phone starts to rattle against the table. I pick it up and answer the call

"Grey."

"Sir, it's Welch. I just reviewed DG's financial statements. The sum you deposited two weeks ago was moved into a separate account and hasn't been touched."

"Hmm," I hum out loud as I stroke my stubbled chin.

"I also noticed that outside of the movement of your deposit from her main account to a new one, there haven't been any daily transactions taking place. Her money is just sitting there, dormant."

I gape at the phone. "Really? Are you telling me that she's not spending _any_ money at all?"

"As far as I can tell."

"How is she eating? How is she putting gas in her car?" I raise my voice in disbelief.

"That, I don't know. But I have my best men on it. I'll report back once I find out something."

"Well, you do that," I say impatiently before hanging up on him.

How in the fuck does the best private investigator that money can buy not figure out how Ana's able to stay afloat without touching her bank account?

This entire situation doesn't sit right with me. First, she meets with Dawson Jacobs and doesn't contact him again. Then there was the emotional meeting with the Davises, which I still haven't heard anything back on. I'm at a total lost here.

 _I need answers._

Suddenly, the beep of the intercom brings my train of thought to a screeching halt.

"Yes, Andrea," I groan.

"Sorry to interrupt, Mr. Grey, but do you recall last year around August when WSU Vancouver pursued you to be this year's keynote speaker at their commencement ceremony?"

"I do," I say. "We missed the deadline on that."

" _Right_ …we took too long to get back to them. Well, it turns out that the other individual they ended up going with has a serious conflict, so the university wants to know if there's a chance that you could reconsider. They are very desperate to fill the spot."

 _Holy fuck._

It's Ana's graduation.

 _And her university wants me to do the keynote._

I pause to consider the pluses and minuses of agreeing or disagreeing to do it.

If Ana and I don't reconcile by then, things can get extremely awkward for the both of us. But right now, I've been playing the waiting game. I have yet to figure out if Ana's heart has mended enough to let me back in it.

Either way, I want to see her. I want to look her in the eye and tell her how much she means to me. If I can't do it before graduation, at least I can do it _at_ graduation.

"I'll do it," I say to Andrea. "Just make sure that they keep my participation a secret until the day of. I don't need the media finding out ahead of time."

"Agreed," she concurs.

In reality, I don't give a shit if the media finds out. I just don't want Ana to be alarmed and concoct an out. She's stubborn enough to decide not to walk across that stage if it means finally facing me. The sad reality is that this might be the very last time I'll ever see her if she's truly done with me.

At least I have a couple of months to finally come to terms with that.

 _If ever._

….

It's been ninety-three days.

Three-point-one months.  
Thirteen-point-three weeks.  
Two thousand two hundred thirty-three hours.

Contrary to popular belief, _time_ didn't heal my wounds.  
Time has only exacerbated them.

She still won't call me.  
She hasn't texted or emailed.

I'm starting to be convinced that she doesn't even love me anymore.  
The very thought of that chokes the very life out of me.

Even after finding out that her and her roommate donates the flowers that I send to Ana every Monday to new mothers at the NICU on Tuesdays, I still haven't stopped sending them. Today, she'll be getting a shipment of ninety-three tulips. It's a token of the new season mixed in with a reminder of how long I've been missing her.

To this day, I can't listen to music. The sound of any sort of melody makes me physically ill. I haven't even played my piano since she left my apartment back on New Year's Day. If I did so, I'd only imagine her dancing across the great room as I played. I don't need the depressing reminder.

 _Although, nothing can stop the images of her dancing in my head._

I also constantly think back to the time when she and I showed great affection towards each other in November while in her mother's backyard in Georgia.

 _In Georgia, the place where she plans on moving._

Not coincidently, I'm getting really close to closing a deal to build a shipyard there. My team, especially Ros, wants to know why I decided to go with Savannah instead of Detroit – the later choice making much more fiscal sense than the former.

I have my reasons, and none of them need to be shared with Ros et al.

I also often think back to the time when Ana and I walked on campus to have lunch together. It's the same place where I found her crying her heart out to Betsy and Joshua Davis.

I still don't know what that meeting was all about. I'm getting more and more frustrated by the day with Welch and team for dragging their asses on this.

I want to give Anastasia the world. If she wants a traditional relationship without restraints and without punishments, I am desperate to give her what she wants. I still love that girl more than life itself.

The other day, a hard-hitting question entered my mind.

 _Would you marry her?_

The answer to that question is a resounding _yes_. There is absolutely no one else in this universe for me _but_ her. And one of these days, I will also get over my fear of having children. In fact, Flynn and I are working extensively during our sessions so that I can overcome that final barrier. It's been a tough road, but at the end of the day, I know it will all be worth it. I understand that this is very important aspiration for Ana – for her to be a mom someday. So, in each and every way, I am working extremely hard to become the man that she needs me to be…for _her_.

And if that also means burning down the playroom, then let that motherfucker burn.

 _I need Ana.  
I need her like I need air._

….

 ** _(One Month and Two Days Later)_**

These past four months have surely been the worst of my life.

 _That I've been old enough to clearly recall, anyway._

I am thoroughly shocked that Anastasia has yet to file a restraining order against me after the stunt I pulled back in March. Even now in May, I continue sending her flowers on a weekly basis. I also sent her fifty thousand dollars back in March, which she has yet to touch.

Although she's continued to avoid me like the plague for months, I've held on to the promise of commencement day. I haven't wavered, even though I've wanted to time and time again. I constantly find the need to steal glances of her beautiful face. It's what has kept me going for so long.

Tomorrow is the day when she and I will finally come face to face. When I see her, I'm going to tell her that she was more than just my private dancer. She was more than just my lover.

She was my best friend.

She was and still is the absolute love of my life.

The other night, I had a dream that she was my wife. The next morning, I woke up with a huge smile on my face.

 _Yes…tomorrow's the day._

* * *

 ** _A/N: Faithful Readers – Unfortunately, I will not be updating next Sunday. Starting tomorrow (Monday), I will be on the road for my job for the next ten days, so I'll be unable to do any writing until I'm back home again._**

 ** _While you wait for chapter 20, make sure you check out my first ever short story, "California Dreamin'." It just went live last week after it tied in first place in the Hot Summer Nights Challenge over at the FSOG Fanfic Followers group. Thanks so much to all of you who voted for it._**

 ** _There's a big chance that I'll either continue that story after APD is done OR move ahead with a story that I've been itching to do for well over a year. I actually came up with the concept around the same time I did for APD, but I asked my fanfic buddies during lunch back in February which story I should write first, and they all voted for APD, haha._**

 ** _Just to give you a little background on the other story that I was hoping to write, which I have an eighteen-page synopsis and a graphic image for: It's a cheating story, which I've never truly written before, BUT it's with a twist. Also, C &A are cheating with each other. That's all I'll say about it. Perhaps I'll do a summary of this story and line it up with a summary of what I plan on doing with the continuation of "California Dreamin'," and then have my readers vote for what I should do next on my Storie Tells All group page. _****:)**

 ** _Back to APD: Will Christian's surprise for Ana finally win her back? Tune in two weeks from now for the final chapter entitled "Purification"! – ST2_**


	20. Chapter 20 - Purification

**Chapter 20** **–** **Purification**

CHRISTIAN

I'm on fucking cloud nine.

All of my hard work: The blood. The sweat. The tears. _Everything_ that I've been laboring over during these past four months in trying to win her back has finally paid off.

 _She's finally here._

I can't believe that this moment came so easily after all the pain, along with begging and the pleading – which I wasn't proud to do so, but dire circumstances deemed it very necessary. But after one simple speech in front of one thousand WSU Vancouver graduates and their many guests, I finally won my girl back.

Now she's right back where she belongs.

Ana doesn't know this yet, but I'm not letting her go back to Vancouver or Montesano after tonight. I'll send Taylor to gather her things if I have to.

But for now, we're in my bed. I sit up with my back against the headboard wearing nothing but my pajama pants, while Anastasia is grinding up against me wearing a black satin chemise. Her matching black thong panties play _peak-a-boo_ every now and then as she moves to the seductive Caribbean rhythm of Sean Paul's _Give It Up to Me_ …which is exactly what I'll be telling her to do not too long from now when I have her legs perched on my shoulders like two parrots while I'm digging deep inside of her.

"Baby, I missed seeing you dance," I breathe. As I lean forward to kiss her, she stops me with her two palms.

With smoky eyes, she seductively purrs, "Patience, my love. Let me finish the dance."

I suddenly realize who's _really_ in charge here.  
It's her.  
It's _always_ been _her_.

"Yes, my love," I answer, just like an obedient little servant. And besides, I live to see her dance for me. Since meeting this force of nature, her moves have always been the highlight of my week. I am so grateful that she has decided to treat me to her gift once more. Actually, it's the very first time that she has danced for me this year.

I'm ecstatic.

She's now on her knees doing the _Dutty Wine_ over my lap like a true Jamaican dancehall queen. I am putty in her hands as she hypnotizes me as only she can.

"I can't wait to make love to you, Anastasia," I groan as she continues to dance. "I've ached for you for _so long_." And there I go begging her once more. Although she's back, I simply can't help myself.

"Are you finally going to behave?" she sings, teasing me.

"Mm hmm," I say like the _big bad wolf_ shortly before he dives in for his prey.

"I don't believe you," she seemingly pretends to pout.

I pretend to be affronted. "Why don't you believe me?"

"Because." She continues grinding her hips and artfully moving her arms in the air, not missing a single beat. She's intoxicating. Her body is like the snake charmer's flute to my dick. My loose PJ pants have actually formed a teepee. "Are you happy to see me, Mr. Grey?"

"As ever," I exhale. "Why did you keep me waiting for so long?"

"To make sure," she says simply.

"To make sure of _what_?"

She concentrates while placing her hands behind her until they reach past my feet. She then does a backbend.

 _Holy shit…will she let me do her just like that?  
How long can she possibly hold that for?_

Before my dirty thoughts take me completely away, she breaks out of her pose and returns back on my lap, dancing with just a little more intensity. Her hands now caress my face.

"I wanted to make sure that this was real," she finally responds.

I reach for her face in return. "Baby, this is real as real can get. You and me…we're forever now. I'm not going _any-where_ ," I say, sounding out the last word for emphasis. Thankfully, the song fades away by the time I pull her face into mine and take her mouth.

I kiss her madly. It's been far too long since I've last tasted her. I've been famished for _four fucking months_. Now, I'm going to eat her up like a rare filet.

 _I am going to devour her._

Without warning, I spring forward, pushing her back against the bed. She gasps in shock and then giggles.

 _That glorious sound is back, but it now fills my bedroom._

I lift up her chemise from her waist and make haste peeling off her panties.

"Christian!" she laughs while her hands tangle up in my hair.

" _Shhh_ ," I tell her. "Baby, just like The Isley Brothers, _I've got work to do_. I have so much time to make up for, and I am raring to get started right away." My mouth begins to caress the tops of her thighs.

"I _really_ like that song," she gasps. "You know…Vanessa Williams did a sassy remake in the nineties. Perhaps I'll dance to that later."

"That would be quite lovely, Miss Steele," I moan, bringing my lips up to her warm center. Her body bows from the bed. " _Mm_ …you like that, baby?"

" _Yes_ ," she gasps.

I return to my ministrations, eventually incorporating my fingers against her clitoris as I taste her. She begins to quake.

"Tonight, I'm going to make you come…one time for each week you kept away from me."

"Christian, _no_ ," she begs.

" _Yes_ ," I hiss, moving my fingers even faster on her most tender spot.

Soon she explodes, shouting out her release.

Hastily, I pull her gown up, then over her head. I swiftly lower down and peel off my pajama pants. Then, while holding one of her legs straight up with one hand, I take hold of my more than eager erection in the other and glide it inside of her from an angle.

" _Ahhh_ ," she and I both gasp in unison. I begin driving into her like a high-powered piston in a cylinder. As I dust her leg that's in hand with kisses, it doesn't take long for her to leave one orgasm and rise into another. When she breaks, I simply ride her out – anxious to catch her next wave.

I look down at her as she continues to fall apart. It's literally my favorite thing to watch her do besides dance. _Maybe I even like this just a slight bit more._

"Oh my god… _Christian_!"

"Again," I gruff, fucking her as if she never came in the first place. I can see that she's getting delirious as she falls out of one peak and breezes right into another one.

"I can't take it!" she cries out.

"Yes, you can, baby. Take this dick. Take all of it," I say through gritted teeth.

"Oh… _fuck_ …" her wail stops just short.

Right away, I feel her insides colliding all around my cock once more, and it feels just like heaven. If she does this one more time, I'm a goner.

" _Christian!_ " she screams as she detonates around me yet again.

A short time later, I fuck her right back into oblivion. As I feel her start to collide all around me again, a tremor surges up my spine.

 _Goddammit._

"I'm going to come inside of you many times tonight, Danseuse," I warn her in advance.

 _But she's already used to me doing just that._

As I thrust, I think about all the pain that I felt when she left me all alone on New Year's Day, but the ill feeling quickly dissipates. Ana's finally back in my life, and she's here in my bed where she's always belonged. I don't know why it took me this long to finally bring her in here. I should've brought her here at the very beginning.

 _This_ is her home as well, whether she knows it or not. My life is all hers. Making her happy is now my sole purpose, because there is no _me_ without _her_. She has given my life brand new meaning. What was once empty and mundane and gray is now vibrant and filled to the brim with so much color.

 _And it's all because of her._

When the realization hits me like a ton of bricks, I find myself getting ready to explode.

"Oh shit!" I shudder, but I don't cease my deliberate pace. I feel her starting to quake all over again as well.

" _Ohhhh_!" she cries out. "I love you!"

I literally go fucking nuts at the sound of her sweet declaration.

" _Ana_ …I love you, too!"

And I come.  
 ** _Hard_** _._

….

I awaken suddenly. I look over to my bedside table and see that it's still hours before my alarm clock is set to go off – which has been the norm for me.

 _So, what's the cause this time?  
I didn't have another nightmare._

Then, I feel it.

" _Mother_ **_fucker_**!" I groan as I angrily pound my fist hard against the mattress.

I wake up all alone in my bed in a warm, soggy mess.

 _A fucking wet dream?!_

 _How old am I?  
Fourteen?_

So, it wasn't real.  
Ana _didn't_ come back to my apartment.

What was once a soaring high now feels like a devastating low. Not only must I still fight today for my one and only true love, but now I have to wash my ass along with these nasty sheets.

It's true that Mrs. Jones has witnessed some _crazy shit_ while working for me over the years. She's had the privilege of scrubbing away the remnants from my rude dealings with past submissives from my playroom. However, one thing she's _never_ had to do was clean up splooge from my own bedsheets. Hell, I didn't even let Grace wash my sheets when I used to squirt in my sleep before Elena got ahold of me.

 _Fuck, this is beyond embarrassing._

So, I roll out of bed wearing a disgusted look on my face, yank all the bedding from the mattress in one fell swoop, and scoop it into a sad pile. _You are beyond pitiful, Grey._ I then peel off my wet pajama pants and place it with the rest of the wreckage before venturing off into the bathroom to clean myself.

 _Thank goodness Gail's off on Saturdays._

As I shower, I'm supposed to be feeling extremely hopeful about today. Yet, after having the dream beyond dreams and then waking up to an empty bed, it served as a sad reminder that this could be the rest of my life if my plan doesn't actually work out this afternoon.

Since deciding to do the keynote at WSU Vancouver, I've been putting a plan in motion to win Ana back. If I'm successful, I have so many people to thank. Andrea has been marvelous in setting everything up for me. And although I've been rather cryptic with Ros when asking her to cover me if I don't happen to show up to work on Monday, she's been beyond supportive. Perhaps it has something to do with how unbearable I've been to work with this year. If anything, my entire executive staff would probably rather see me go away for a while.

Gail and Taylor have been rock-solid and steady. When I have my moments, they simply roll with the punches. Gail seriously can't wait until Ana returns – _for good_ this time. Mrs. Jones hasn't been shy in telling me that my place finally needs a _woman's touch_. As far as Taylor goes, I'm sure he can't wait until I'm back to earth so he can take it easy for a while and take Mrs. Jones out on a proper date. I find it hard to believe that the two of them managed to grow even closer in the midst of me falling apart, but good for them.

All day Friday, I was rehashing my speech for today. I didn't want the words to be so blatant that the audience quickly figure out that it's not really for them. Sure, I'll throw them a bone, but I want Anastasia to pick up the meat of what I'm trying to say. She needs to understand that I have changed and that I am _still_ changing. I'm not necessarily all the way where I should be, but I'm definitely not the same man that I was in 2010.

 _Ana made certain of that._

I haven't torn down the playroom yet, but I haven't been in there since she and I were there last. If she comes back to me, the playroom goes away. And if she doesn't come back…

 _Hell_ – I don't even want to think about her not coming back. I can't even bring myself to imagine what my life would be like without her.

Out of nowhere, I begin singing in the shower. Today, it's Aretha Franklin's _Until You Come Back To Me_. No other song has explained my situation to a tee these days more than this one.

….

In my wardrobe room, I pull my lucky gray tie from the rack, hoping that it performs it's magic and helps me win back the love of my life. I've been fucking miserable for four months. For four _long_ months, I've been living in a virtual hell. My family has been trying so very hard to pull me out of my funk, but it's been to no avail.

Yesterday at work, Elliot called me, and I finally revealed to him what I planned to do in order to win Ana back. I told him about the speech. I told him about _the envelope_.

 _"_ _Bro, I truly hope that it works out for you," he said.  
"Obviously, you hurt that girl to the core."_

 _"_ _I fucking know that!" I snapped._

 _"_ _Calm down, man," he said in placation.  
"I didn't mean that to place the blame on you.  
I said it to say that no matter what Mia and I  
tried to say during the time that we went  
to visit her in Vancouver, she wasn't hearing it."_

 _"_ _I know that I fucked up.  
You don't have to sugar coat it."_

 _"_ _We all make mistakes, man.  
But I think she knows that you're continuing to fight for her.  
That should account for something.  
Maybe she'll break soon."_

 _"_ _I don't want to break her. I simply want her back."_

 _He laughed. "Which requires 'breaking her'.  
Look, she's going to have to bring down her guard…  
or break down her walls before she can let you back in."_

 _"_ _Fuck," I sigh. "What if she doesn't?"_

 _"_ _Don't think that way," Elliot said.  
"As long as she's listening to you, there is still a chance.  
You'll have the floor during your speech.  
She'll have no other choice but to finally listen to you."_

 _"_ _But what if Kate tells her before the ceremony that  
I'm the keynote? Will Ana skip the ceremony?"_

 _Elliot laughed once more. "Her family is going to be there.  
They are going to want to see her walking across that stage.  
She's as good as stuck."_

 _"_ _True," I hummed._

 _"_ _Knock 'em dead, bro. And go and get your girl," he rallied._

 _"_ _All I know is that I miss her desperately and  
I want her back," I sighed. "I __**need**_ _her back."_

 _"_ _So…go and get your girl," he repeated with extra emphasis._

* * *

ANA

Well…today is the day. Finally, four years of hard work has finally paid off.

So, why do I feel so… _empty_? Really, I shouldn't be feeling this way – but I do.

Maybe it's because the moment I walk across that stage, the _rest of my life_ will begin suddenly. It's like the _Wizard of Oz_. When that diploma reaches my hands, I would have officially left Kansas. That very thought alone is beyond terrifying.

My first three years of college were so uneventful and graduation day seemed so far away at the time. I didn't think I'd ever reach the other side. When senior year finally came, it was like the universe didn't want me to ever graduate. Clayton's took away my scholarship. I was forced to find another job and find another way to pay for school. Everything was looking extremely bleak until I landed the high-paying gig at Zion.

 _"_ _I'm not a dancer. I'm sorry."_

 _"_ _You'd be serving guests food and drinks."_

Fucking L-Mo. She lied to me and said that I wouldn't be a dancer. Granted, neither she nor I would've never known that I could dance if it weren't for a certain _someone_ who made me do it in the first place.

 _"_ _I was invited here by someone who's company I've been trying to acquire for the past year," –_ he told me back when we were in our very first private room together.

I get chills from the memory of his presence that night. He was absolutely perfect to me in every way.

 _"_ _Mr. Neumann," I guessed._

 _"_ _Yes. Anyway, he insisted that I get a lap dance.  
I wasn't interested. But then I saw you."_

The bittersweet memory of his words singes me.

 _"There's just something about you that's different.  
It's different than any girl that I've ever met.  
And I'm determined to find out what it is."_

I remember those words turning me on at the time. But now, all I can thinking about is him shedding his white wool and revealing the big bad wolf who was more than willing to make me his submissive.

However, I'm no longer sensing that he's the man that I left. I haven't stopped reading the little notes that he leaves in the flowers that he sends. They are getting more and more personal that I can't imagine him having his personal assistant phoning that in to the florist.

 **My Dearest Ana: My love for you is the only thing that keeps me going these days. You'll never understand the depth or the breadth of what I feel for you until you let me back in. I hope that happens soon. – Love, Christian**

That was the note that was hidden inside of one hundred and twenty-one fucking white roses. Dammit, he's excessive.

 _"_ _I guess it's been one hundred and twenty-one days since you left"_ – Kate mocked this past Monday while rolling her eyes at the massive delivery that took three people to bring in this time. _"He's fucking pathetic."_

Believe it or not, her comment really rubbed me the wrong way. Christian may be many things, but pathetic isn't one of them. He's only reacting this way because I refuse to talk to him or see him. Thinking back, maybe I've been going about this entirely wrong. Maybe I should finally hear him out.

 _Is it too late?_

Perhaps I'll reach out to him tomorrow. I won't tell Kate, of course; she'd only talk me out of it. I _need_ to talk to him. I must find out if he's actually changed, or if it's just been lip service. I think that this first face-to-face conversation with him will be a make-or-break situation for us. No matter how afraid I am to face him, this meeting finally needs to happen.

 _Tomorrow will help me to finally decide if I should move down south or remain in the northwest._

Even though my mom won't make it to my graduation today, she is still waiting with bated breath for my decision to move in with her. Part of me is annoyed that she's not even going to be here to see me walk across the stage. She's known since _day one_ that Bob was a shitty golfer, yet she continues to let him do it. Leave it up to him to break his leg on the course last week. Now he's a big ass baby that won't let my mother go anywhere, not even to her only child's college graduation. He can't even wipe his own ass without her.

 _Do I_ _ **really**_ _want to move in with them?_

I shudder at the thought.

 _Maybe I won't have a choice after tomorrow._

Meanwhile, Kate's been constantly begging me to still move to Seattle with her. She absolutely refuses to hear my side.

 _"_ _If I move in with you, Christian will more than likely set up camp outside of your door"_ – I told her.

 _"_ _As if he wouldn't do that in Savannah"_ – she scoffed. _"It's not like he hasn't flown all the way there before to check up on you."_

She made a fair point. Still, I'd rather not make it easy for him to follow me around. Seattle is literally his entire backyard. It's been extremely difficult to hide shit from him living three hours away, so just imagine if I'm practically up the street from him – which is exactly where Kate's new place so happens to be.

If I'm in Seattle, he's going to know **_everything_**.

That's why I think it's essential that we finally talk after graduation.

….

Kate knocks on my bedroom door and calls out to me while I'm starting to get dressed.

"You're leaving?" I call back. I know that as class valedictorian, she has to be at the place earlier than the rest of us.

"Can I come in?" she says in a strange tone.

"I'm getting dressed," I warn her, but she opens up the door anyway.

I'm in my most unflattering undergarments as I pull my flowery dress over my head. Once that's done, I am greeted by Kate's scowl. My heart skips a beat.

"What's wrong? Is it your folks?" I ask, concerned.

"No," she growls. "I just got a call from the chancellor's assistant reminding me of this morning's events with the faculty before we march out on stage. While explaining things, she let it slip who the surprise keynote speaker was."

It doesn't take me long to guess.  
My eyes gape wide.

" _Noooo_."

" _Yessss_ ," she seethes. "That motherfucker."

I turn around and pace to my bedroom window and look out into the unassuming parking lot.

 _He planned this.  
He was going to force me to talk to him anyway. _

I turn from the window. "Maybe I should stay home."

"Are you crazy?" Kate gapes. "This is _your_ college graduation. Fuck him."

"It's just the degree I need. You can pick it up for me afterwards," I say, almost dead inside.

"But _Ray_ will be there," she tries to reason with me.

"I can call and tell him that I'm not feeling all that well…which isn't a lie. Montesano is just two hours away. Maybe he hasn't even left home yet."

"Ana, I swear to god if you don't go and walk across that stage. At the very least, be there to hear my speech," Kate pleads. "And when the asshole gets up to talk, you can go to the bathroom. Hey, I'll even text you when he's done."

I laugh for the first time in quite a while. "I wouldn't walk out during the middle of Christian's _rah-rah_ speech. That's all it will be, I suppose."

"I doubt that's all it will be," she frowns. "He's definitely up to something. Maybe he _knows_."

"Trust me, he doesn't," I quickly respond.

"Something tells me that he does," she argues.

"What, has Elliot mentioned something to you?" I say, alarmed.

She shakes her head. "No."

"Well then," I sigh in relief. "Why don't you go ahead before you're late. I'll be there."

Kate steps up to me and wraps an arm around my shoulder. "You promise?"

I nod. "I've gotta hear this speech that you've that been prepping for. I'm sure it's nothing but great."

"At least I hope that it is," Kate sighs. "Too bad Grey had to come in and fuck it all up," she says, turning sour.

I place a hand on her shoulder. "Don't worry about him _or_ me. Just get through your speech. And the moment we both step off that stage, we'll celebrate – okay?"

We turn and hug one another, and she kisses my forehead. Four years of ups and downs, and now we're here. Finally, we are going to be college graduates. Today needs to be a day of celebration with our families; the drama can wait until tomorrow.

 _If only I can get through the day avoiding Christian as much as possible._

* * *

CHRISTIAN

The second I spot Miss Kavanagh at the chancellor's coffee reception for faculty and special guests, she's mean mugging me. I was in the middle of a very interesting conversation with one of the professors of agriculture when she so rudely approaches.

"Well hello, class valedictorian," the professor beams at her. She smiles just for him.

"Dr. Cooper."

 _Let's have some fun._

I extend my hand towards her. "I'm Christian Grey, today's keynote speaker."

Kavanagh frowns down at my hand and doesn't take it. "I _know_ who you are," she snaps. When she quickly turns away, I apologize to the professor before going after her.

"Kate."

She stops in her tracks and then spins on her heel to face me.

" _What_ ," she bites.

"I want to know how Ana's doing."

She sighs. "She's surviving. She made a 4.0," she says, none too pleased, I presume from my very presence.

"Of course, she did," I respond with pride.

"No thanks to you."

As Kate rolls her eyes, something within me pops.

The long sleepless nights. The hours upon hours of additional therapy sessions with my shrink. Everything I've been going through over these past four months suddenly floods to the surface. Soon, my standard poker face goes by the wayside. Kate flinches. She now looks mortified.

"I really miss her," I say desperately. "She won't let me…"

"She's _fine_ ," she barks. "Believe me, she's fine. She doesn't want to see you. _You're_ …you're too much for her," she adds coldly.

Her cold demeaner becomes contagious.

"She can't avoid me today."

"Don't be so sure about that," she combats.

"I know that her father is here. He wants to see his daughter walk across that stage."

"And she will," Kate smirks. "But she doesn't have to listen to your babbling."

I ignore her snide remark. "I requested to the chancellor that I hand out the diplomas to _all_ of the students this afternoon."

Miss Kavanagh's maniacal laughter throws me for a loop. "You're insane – you know that? Like _literally_ insane."

"I'm doing whatever I have to do to talk to her."

"I really don't think that will end well…especially for you."

 _What?!  
What is she talking about?_

Her words somewhat shake me, but I don't let her know it from my stern expression.

"I know that you don't think very highly of me for some reason, but I _love_ your best friend, and I'll do _anything_ for her. She needs to know that."

For the first time ever, Katherine appears at a loss, but our talk is suddenly cut short when the chancellor and the dean of the college of agriculture interrupts us. Soon, I'm being whisked away by them to meet some of the other faculty members, leaving Miss Kavanagh behind.

….

I am lined up with the chancellor, the president and the provost among others as we are led to the stage. The audience who appears to be mostly seated takes notice of us as the chatter quiets just slightly. Straight ahead, I see the sea of supporters of those who will soon fill the currently vacant seats closest to the front of the stage.

Soon, Ana will be among them.

I idly wonder where her stepfather is currently sitting. I did get word that her mother never made it in from Georgia. I hope that she's in good health and that it's nothing serious.

Soon, a man that I don't know approaches the podium and inches closer to the mic.

"Everyone, please rise for the class of 2011."

All on stage as well as those in the audience stand as the orchestra positioned in the balcony begins to play _Pomp and Circumstance._ Slowly, all of the graduates begin to file into the arena. Their gowns are identical, so I'm racking his brain trying to make out where Ana stands in the line. The whole time, the crowd continuously cheers the graduates on. In less than ten minutes, they are all in and standing in front of their seats as the entire audience remains standing.

 _Where. Is. Ana._

Once everyone is seated, the university's president greets the crowd and gives the graduating class some encouraging words. When he's done, he introduces the class valedictorian, which I understand was _not_ a selection from the senior student body as a whole. I was told that you only needed to put your name into the hat and then meet certain criteria in order to be chosen. With that said, I'm certain that Anastasia would be standing here if she even bothered to put in for it.

Instead, it's Katherine Kavanagh rising up from her chair and gliding to the podium with grace and ease. She puts out a certain persona, but I know that she doesn't have it all together as much as she thinks. She was born with a fucking silver spoon in her mouth. She's never experienced hardship. To this day, I don't understand how she and Ana are even friends, much less, _best_ friends. Kate Kavanagh has never had to work at a slimy rich man's gentlemen's club in order to pay for college.

"Good afternoon Washington State University - Vancouver class of 2011 graduates, members of the faculty and distinguished guests, and friends and family. Today, we graduates will embark on a journey of _triumph_."

" _Woo-hoo!_ " a random male voice cheers out among the group of graduates. Scattered laughter ensues, but Miss Kavanagh remains laser focused.

 _Impressive._

"When many of us first stepped foot on campus four years ago, we were overwhelmed to say the least. Many of us for the first time ever found ourselves far away from home. But as time moved on, we begin to learn the ropes. We located the learning center where brilliant tutors were available to proofread our research papers. We found out that the library was opened twenty-four hours during finals week. We knew exactly where to get coffee, and where to play foosball."

The audience explodes in laughter.

"By sophomore year, _Blackboard_ became a bad word."

As the many graduates begin groaning at the very notion, the faculty on stage chuckles. "Sorry about that!" one of them even yells out.

"It's okay," Kavanagh winks, and the crowd laughs again.

 _I'm surprised.  
She really knows how to captivate an audience._

"As a student at WSUV, I found that not only were the faculty and staff super supportive, but so were the students. I remember the time when I went out with my brother while he was in town, and we ate some bad sushi." The audience begins to groan in empathy. "I was able to email one person from each of my classes the next day, and every one of them shared their lecture notes with me. Not to mention, each professor was beyond understanding concerning my absence.

"Every single professor from every class I've taken here has been wonderful. It just lets me know that the selection process here at WSUV is top notch. Not only do we have the brightest and best students, but we are all being taught by the brightest and best _faculty_."

Suddenly, the graduating class all rise and give the leadership on stage a resounding applause. I along with a few other special guests sitting on stage stand and also salute the teachers among us. The recipients are humbled.

"Yes…absolutely," Miss Kavanagh encourages the applause before turning around and paying tribute herself as well.

As we are seated, I tune out of Kate's speech and resume my quest to find Ana in the sea of caps and tassels.

 _She's gotta be in there somewhere._

I don't know how long Kavanagh continues to speak for, but it seems that she's taking forever, which is the same amount of time that I've been searching for Miss Steele.

 _Please don't tell me that she slipped out after Kate warned her that I'd be doing the keynote._

I'm getting more and more frantic by the minute. I'm not going to be able to focus on my speech until I find her. Suddenly, the audience claps at something else that Kate says, which I have no clue what it was all about. I'm slowly going out of my mind as she continues to talk.

"Class of 2011, keep your eye on the prize, stay focused, and make the WSU Vancouver alumni community proud!"

Another round of applause for Katherine Kavanagh.  
Damn, this is getting beyond boring.

 _Where's Ana?!_

"If weren't for the support of my family… _where are you_?" Kavanagh calls out, placing her hand just above her eyes as she scans the audience. " _Oh_! There they are! My mom, my dad, and my brother!"

Applause, applause.  
 _Yawn._

As I look at her family waving up in the balcony seats, her father instantly stands out.

 _Eamon Kavanagh is indeed her father.  
I've done business with him._

"They've been my rock," she gushes before turning away from them. "And a special shout out to my _very_ best friend, summa cum laude, Miss Anastasia Steele!"

As the audience applauds just a little louder, I see the crowd of graduates in a round, eagerly pointing her out for all to see as she tries to hide away from the attention.

 _There she is._

My heart nearly stops when I spot her. Soon, she knows that I see her the moment that our eyes meet. She then closes her eyes, and I can see her physically sighing.

 _I found you, Danseuse._

"She's been absolutely _amazing_ these past four years. Love you, girl!" Kate squeals.

Ana looks like she'd rather be anyplace other than here right now.

 _Oh, thank you silly Miss Kavanagh for calling her out for me.  
I was going out of my mind trying to find her. _

"And to our other good friends and fellow class of 2011 graduates – Sasha House, Belinda Edwards, Gabe Rivera, and Tiffany Fincher… ** _we did it_**!"

After her giddy tirade, she brings her speech to a nice and composed close before shouting " **Go Cougs!** " – which ignites the entire audience.

After several more speakers come and go, the chancellor is finally announced. He reaches the stage and then leads in with a warm welcome, which I blank out for most of it as I stare absentmindedly at Miss Steele.

 _Why won't you look at me, my love?_

 _Does she not love me anymore?_

I can feel my stomach starting to cave in.

"…so, it is my extreme pleasure to introduce this year's commencement keynote speaker…"

Fuck – that's me.

"Founder and CEO of Grey Enterprises Holdings, Incorporated, philanthropist, and Washington State University - Vancouver benefactor, Mr. Christian Grey."

I receive a warm welcome from the audience as I approach the podium. I shake the chancellor's hand, and he turns to take his seat. I nod to the audience in appreciation and the applause gradually comes to a stop.

 _Well, here goes nothing._

"Destiny," I start.

I let the word linger out in the not-so-hollow arena.

"That one simple word means so many things to so many different people. We've all heard from certain individuals in our lives that _destiny_ is predetermined; that there is nothing that you can do, especially if your life's calling is tremendous. You can fight it, but your world will cease to rotate…the planets in your solar system will never align until you finally heed destiny's call.

"Then there are those who believe that _destiny_ is only what you make it. I think about the many books I've read about influential people who've defied the odds and forged their own destiny. There's comedienne legend Lucille Ball who was told in drama school that she couldn't act – but she never gave up. Later on, she would have the longest running television show of that time and amass thirteen Emmy nominations as well as a lifetime achievement award. Ms. Ball is now regarded as one of the greatest comedians who has ever lived.

"And I don't even need to tell you the impact that Michael Jordan, arguably one of the greatest athletes ever, has made in the sport of basketball. When he was a junior in high school, he was turned down from the varsity team because they said that he was too short. But just like Ms. Ball, he didn't give up. He began to take the time to intricately develop his craft for as long as it took until others began to take notice. Today, you can't think of the term _'Basketball's Greatest'_ without considering _Michael Jordan_.

"He once said concerning his failures that he's lost hundreds of games and has missed thousands upon thousands of shots in his career. He's been entrusted to take the game winning shot dozens of times and lost. He concluded that the reason for his ultimate great success was due to the many times in his life that he has failed."

I intently scan the audience, and then the panel on stage behind me to see if they are still with me. They are fully engaged, so I continue.

"We've all heard the stories about J.K. Rowling, Oprah Winfrey, Steve Jobs, Walt Disney, and even The Beatles – all who have defied gravity and soared when they weren't willing to accept their _pre-determine destiny_. Still, some would argue that they were always pre-determined for greatness. If that's the case, then why is it that certain individuals who grew up in a third-world village with no food, no proper nutrition or medical care, and no viable resources for shelter or education, are able to rise up and become world changers, while their friends and neighbors end up dying in their same old environment? What makes one person more different from the other? Is it _destiny_? Is it… _opportunity_?

"Many years ago, I resolved to discover if destiny was truly pre-determined for those who couldn't help their present circumstances. If given an opportunity, could those individuals change the tide? Could they literally shift _destiny_? As a young man, I felt that I owed it to pay it forward since I had so much to be grateful for at the time. I myself was born into an environment that wasn't conducive for success. Thankfully, I was taken out of that and given an _opportunity_. I began to be reared in an atmosphere that encouraged greatness.

"Now granted, we here all know that even those who are raised in the best of environments don't necessarily take advantage of their good fortune. We've heard the stories of the spoiled rich kids who have chosen to land themselves in trouble time and time again. Look at yourselves in this room this afternoon. You all have put in four solid years of your lives at this fine school…some, _more_ than four years. Yet, how many of you will take this _opportunity_ , in this case – _your degree_ , and use it to its full potential? I recently read an article that said _sixteen-percent_ of bartenders, hotel and resort clerks, administrative assistants, and telemarketers have bachelor's degrees. _Thirty-percent_ of flight attendants also have a four-year degree."

I hear a collective audible gasp along with some mumbling in the audience, but I continue.

"And as we all know, none of those positions require a degree. So, what do we say about those individuals? Did they suddenly give up on the career that they worked so hard to get into? _Or_ was it always their _destiny_ to either bartend or travel all around the world as a flight attendant, even though their parents essentially _made them_ go to college to become doctors, lawyers, and engineers?

"I honestly don't know the answer to that question. But what I _do_ know is that everyone in this room sitting here today has been given an opportunity. A _chance_. And whatever becomes of your destiny will be up to a series of choices that you make. And if you find yourself at a _dead end_ , maybe you'll be graced with another opportunity; a chance to change your script if you don't like where your destiny is leading you.

"When I first started Grey Enterprises Holdings seven years ago, I had no idea how much impact my company would have. Today, we've provided food, clean water, and medical resources to millions of people in need across the world."

I don't expect the applause, so when it happens, it stops me cold in my tracks. I'm simply trying to make a point and not seeking praise. I awkwardly proceed through the lingering applause.

"We have also partnered with viable charities and organizations to initiate schools in villages out east who are desperate for them. Children who more than likely didn't have a fair shot in life because their bodies and minds weren't thriving, they are now _dreaming_. They are now seeing life beyond their villages and aspiring to make a global impact as well when they grow up."

Applause re-erupts. In spite of how things may appear, I didn't seek to make this speech a commercial for _Christian Grey_ or _GEH_. When I wrote this speech a couple of day ago after discarding my head of PR's shitty attempt, I only had one person in mind. The fact that everyone else is getting something out of it is simply a bi-product.

I press on through the applause once more and it gradually fades.

"GEH's partnership with the college of agricultural, human, and natural resource sciences here at WSU Vancouver is simply another facet of creating and providing _opportunity_ for future generations in a two-fold fashion by continuing to accelerate the brilliant young minds here and enabling them impact the entire planet. We work together so that little girls like Maria from El Salvador, and little boys like David from Ghana can have plenty of food and clean water as they go through the ranks of primary school. Children like them will be able to thrive and be provided an _opportunity_ to forge their own destinies as opposed to simply existing in the dire circumstances in their poor villages…or even worst – ceasing to exist at all."

There's a sober silence in the arena and I let it linger just a beat for effect.

"So, I ask each and every one of you: Are you in control of _your_ destiny? Will you allow a simple _'no'_ keep you from a dream that you hold so dear – be it a dream job, or a home, or even a family of your very own?"

When my eyes finally land dead on Anastasia Steele I can literally see that she stops breathing. Suddenly, everyone in the hall disappears and it's just her and I.

"You will make many mistakes in your life after you step foot off this stage with your diploma. There might even be a mistake in the mix that'll seemingly seal your fate. But if a certain _destiny_ means more to you than anything else, you'll fight for it…no matter what.

"Long ago in business, I decided to never let the word _'no'_ stop me in my tracks. If I can't envision anything else _except_ achieving that _one thing_ , I will stop at absolutely nothing until I get it."

Miss Steele is now gaping at me, but I continue on readdressing the audience once more.

"If it's in your blood, there is _no way_ you can flush it out of you. No matter where you turn, you won't rest until that _one thing_ finally happens for you. For me, it's no longer about my _business_. Today, I fight for something greater."

When my eyes return back to Miss Steele, I can almost feel the heat from the valedictorian's eyes lasering a hole through the back of my suit jacket. But I am too _in the zone_ to care.

 _This is your one and only chance, Grey, so make it good._

I scan the audience. "It's the reason why we _all_ strive for greatness. In the beat of _life_ , never lose sight of what's most important. Ultimately, if you don't have someone special to share your achievements with, your entire life's work is all in vain. Today, that special someone might be your parents, your siblings, or your friends. One day, it could be a spouse…"

My sincere gaze returns to a stunned Ana.

"…someone that from the moment you first meet them, you'll _never_ be able to imagine dancing to this ever-changing _beat of life_ again without them."

Her eyes grow even wider.

"In the future that love may even produce children, which further expands your purpose to strive for greatness."

Suddenly her head falls, and her hands quickly cover up her face.

 _Baby, no!  
What's wrong?_

I can feel my palms starting to sweat. My greatest fear right now is seeing her dash out of this hall. So help me god if she does, or I will stop in the middle of this fucking speech and go right after her.

 _I can't lose her._

"This year so far has probably been the most difficult ever for me. Last year, I've made mistakes that I absolutely regret. Some might even say that I simply need to accept the fate that I've been given due to my foolish choices, but I've never been one to take life lying down. The word _'no'_ is not in my vocabulary."

I then look Anastasia dead in the eye from across the stage.

"I am _not_ going to stop until I make it right."

She visibly shudders at my words, and I quickly focus on the rest of the graduates, although my heart is still with her.

 _I hope that she understands how much I truly love her._

"I advise that all of you do the same. Simply learn from your mistakes and never let your current circumstances dictate your destiny. You may have lost the last round, but you can continue to work hard through the rejection. Work on changing your mind. Work on changing your attitude. Adjust and become that exceptional person you need to be in order for destiny to become your friend and not your foe. Thank you."

The arena erupts, but my mood doesn't catch on.

I'm torn.

….

Not long afterwards, the chancellor reclaims the podium and those on stage, save for Miss Kavanagh, all line up starting with me at the table containing the _many_ diplomas. Standing nearby, a faculty member is setting up in order to hand off each one to me as that particular graduate approaches. I was quickly tutored before we came here on stage on how to hand off the degree and shake the graduate's hand at the same time.

 _Simple enough_ – I thought.

Soon, the A's are ushered out of their seats and escorted to the stage. Someone off stage nods at the woman working the diplomas, and she quickly hands me the first one. The chancellor then calls out the very first name. Not before long, I discovered that I have plenty of time in between graduates to sneak out the envelope from my inside jacket pocket.

 _This plan might work afterall._

In the midst of handing out degrees and shaking hands, many of the graduates thank me for my inspiring words earlier. One even suggested that I write a motivational book. I don't foresee myself doing _that_ anytime soon, especially if this plan that I've had in the works for many weeks now doesn't pan out.

 _I hope that's not the case._

Fuck, there are tons of A's through D's to sift through.

At this point, I've encountered a significant amount of flirting from the future alumni, both female _and_ male. It simply rolls off my shoulder as I keep the line moving. We eventually move on to the H's.

"Sasha Angelica House, cum laude," the chancellor announces.

I soon blink when I see Ana's good friend standing right before me.

"Congratulations, Miss House," I say as I hand her the diploma with one hand, while shaking her free hand with the other.

"Thank you. _Fantastic_ speech, by the way," she smirks. "I sincerely hope that it worked. By the way, she _really_ misses you, too."

 _Huh?_

Before I can even ask her any questions, Sasha darts away to the next faculty member on stage, and I am met by the next graduate in line. As I hand him his diploma, my eyes find Miss Steele in the audience who's looking down in her lap. My heart sinks.

I'm not sure if my cryptic plea even worked. I'm going to have to tell her straight to her face once she gets up here exactly how I feel about her, or she'll never truly ever know. But then the new question will soon be – _Will she even give two shits?_

It seems as though we cycle through hundreds of graduates whose last names begin with 'J' before we venture into the K's.

"Class of 2011's valedictorian, Katherine Agnes Kavanagh. Summa cum laude."

Oh, fuck me.

The crowd excitedly cheers for her as she shakes the chancellor's hand while wearing a smile befitting of a toothpaste commercial. However, the moment she proceeds towards me, the smile quickly fades away. She practically has wrath swimming in her eyes, but I remain steady.

"Miss Kavanagh," I say as I hand off her diploma. "Congratulations." Surprisingly, she takes my offered hand in hers.

"If you _ever_ hurt my best friend again," she seethes, "I _will_ chop your dick off and feed it to the spotted hyenas at the Woodland Park Zoo."

 _What?!_

It's not her threat that has my eyeballs nearly ejecting out of their sockets. No – all I hear in Ana's bitchy roommate's words is _'hope'_.

"She's going to take me back?" I gasp, unable to contain my ridiculous glee.

Instead of responding, she simply sighs and rolls her eyes before pulling away from me to greet the next waiting hand in line.

Kate just said _'again'_ , which also means that there has to be another chance given for such a statement to arise out of her. I swear on my life that if this is true, I will _never_ intentionally hurt Anastasia ever again.

 _I'd cease to live before I cause her to run away from me once more._

I am willing time away as best I can as we parse through more L's, M's, N's, and later – P's than you can fucking shake a stick at. Then the R's show up, and it's a shit-parade full of them. Again, more praises, more winks, and I even get a few requests for selfies after the ceremony. I'm beyond annoyed at this point. Each time I look at the woman I love out in the audience, she's does her very best to avoid the very sight of me.

We eventually reach the S's, where Anastasia is located towards the very end of the row. Finally, I see her group rise up to approach the stage. In between handing off diplomas and not smiling no matter how kind the graduates are to me, I steal quick glances of Ana as she moves forward. More than anything, I am deathly afraid that this really could be it. This might be the absolute final time that my eyes get to feast on this beautiful girl.

 _Oh god, I certainly hope not._

"Eliza Marie Sanchez, cum laude," the chancellor recites.

The closer the line gets to Ana, the more numb I feel.

 _I can't lose her._

"Mario David Spivey."

I see her as she raises her gown from her feet. She carefully positions one high heel on the first step, before following it with the other.

 _She's here.  
She's really here._

"Anastasia Rose Steele, summa cum laude."

I hear a cheer in the audience, letting me know that my sweet and beautiful brilliant girl is very much appreciated by her peers. There is no one else in this world but her as I witness her force a smile and take the chancellor's offered hand. And just like her best friend, that smile wipes away when she gets to me. But this time, I don't see anger.

Is it… _fear_?

"Congratulations, Miss Steele," I say as I quickly give her the diploma that she worked so hard for. My heart stops the moment our other hands touch.

"Christian…" she breathes, but I stop her from speaking.

"Listen, I know that I can't convince you in under ten seconds _not_ to move to Savannah and come to Seattle with me instead …"

"No…"

 _No?_ In spite of what I just heard, I continue onward because I know that I only have a sliver of time to say exactly what I need to say to her.

"But I hope that you will accept my graduation gift to you. It's stuck behind your diploma."

She gasps and quickly turns the one-sided frame over and sees the red envelope.

" _What_ …what's this?" she stammers.

The line behind her is beginning to pile up, but I ignore it as well as the concerned looks that I am now catching from the faculty filed up alongside me waiting to shake Ana's hand. As she nervously looks around at everyone watching us, I clasp her hand even tighter so that she can't proceed until I'm done saying exactly what I have to say.

"Anastasia Rose Steele, it is no longer _complicated_ for me. There is no doubt in my mind that I am absolutely _madly_ in love with you. You are _it_ for me. There will never be another who'll possess my heart."

When she gasps, so do those within earshot of us. It doesn't stop me from going on a desperate tirade in order to win her back.

"Last year, I met _London_ , and she completely changed my life. Next week, I want to take her to meet her namesake. I know that going to London has always been your dream. Two weeks…just you and me. We'll do whatever it is you want to do. Climb Big Ben, sail the Thames, trod the neighborhoods where some of your favorite writers grew up…maybe even cross Abbey Road. Whatever your heart desires to do, we'll do it."

As she stares at me in shock, all I can think about is what I have planned for her in London. She doesn't know it yet, but if I can get her to go with me on Monday, London will mean so much more to _her_ …so much more for the _both of us_.

During our time there, I plan on proposing to her.

Everything is set. The engagement ring was produced _weeks_ ago, and dinner reservations at _Alain Ducasse at The Dorchester_ are locked in. She and I will have with the most intimate and secluded table in the house. And if Ana says _'yes'_ , I plan on turning two weeks away into three when I jet her over to Paris. And if she agrees to a quick wedding while we're there – which can be arranged on short notice thanks to some property that I own there, along with the assistance of an acquaintance who works for the French government – we'll elope there and then take our honeymoon to the South of France, bringing our European excursion out to _four glorious weeks_.

But I'm getting _way_ ahead of myself here.

"Ana, I'll do anything for you to come back to me. Baby, I love you more than life itself. I never want to spend another waking moment without you ever again. _Please_ …pretty please with sugar on top…say that you'll go to London with me."

Suddenly, I realize that the chancellor temporarily stopped calling out names and the line stopped moving. All eyes are now truly on me and Miss Steele. I'm sure that it didn't take the audience very long to figure out that my commencement address was simply a sad attempt to win back the girl who's hand I'm currently holding. I don't care how foolish I look right, this is my fucking life on the line.

If she says _'no'_ , then I am finished.

Done for.

With pensive eyes, Anastasia tucks her diploma and enclosed international airline ticket securely under her arm and then tries to free her other hand from mine. My heart catches in my throat.

 _Oh no. She's really leaving me this time._

I want to grab her and pull her into me with all of my might, but reason kicks in and I reluctantly release her. To my surprise, she doesn't immediately turn away. Instead, she takes her now freed hand and smoothes out her graduation gown with it. All of a sudden, I notice a bump protruding just above her stilled hand, which is now pressed against her upper thigh. At first, it simply looked like she just ate a little more than she'd normally eat for breakfast. However, Ana would _never_ do that.

 _Hell, I remember having to badger her to eat something on a fairly regular basis._

But then, reality kicks in like a roundhouse to the head. The second I realize that the tent of her gown has no more empty space to flatten all the way out, it hits me.

 _She's pregnant._

 **Ana is pregnant.**

Holy.

Fucking.

Shit.

 _I_ …I didn't know. I didn't have a fucking clue that she was carrying a child all this time. My team who's responsible for keeping an eye on her never saw her frequently visiting the doctor. So how did she do it? How was she able to keep this news so close to her chest… _literally_?

When all of the air leaves my lungs, she says _very_ quietly so that no one else can hear – "Christian, I _can't_ go to London right now. As you can see, I must stay here in the states and prepare to give birth to _our_ _child_ in just under four months. I really hope that you meant everything you said up here earlier. By the way, Ray, my stepfather wants to speak to you right after the ceremony. I'll see you then. _Hopefully_."

Then suddenly she walks away, leaving me absolutely dumbstruck.

 _I'm going to be a…_

 _A_ _ **father**_ _?_

As the next graduate finally approaches to shake my hand and retrieve their degree while wearing a confused expression, I am now an empty husk after my soul has just evacuated my body and floated away.

 _FIN._

* * *

 ** _A/N: Well folks…that's the end._**

 ** _Maybe?_** **;)**

 ** _You might be saying to yourself: "What?! When?! Where?! How?!"_**

 ** _Well, if you need answers, stay tuned for Ana's epilogue next week! And then it will truly be the end. I promise._** **:D** ** _Yes – Ana was indeed on the pill, but as many of you figured out early on, her birth control method wasn't failsafe. So, what happened?_**

 ** _And just because Christian knocked her up and has been rehabilitating his frozen heart and mind for the past four months doesn't mean that Ana's super willing to let him make an honest woman out of her, haha! She'll probably be just as feisty and stubborn as ever in her telling of the epilogue. Hey, maybe she'll even dance again._**

 ** _Make sure you stop by the Storie Tells All Facebook group page and let me know some of the questions that you're eagerly awaiting answers for in the conclusion of APD. Thanks so much for reading! – ST2_**

 ** _RIP Queen of Soul. As someone who was born and raised in Detroit, I am forever grateful for Aretha Franklin's continuous love for the city. I am also grateful that she shared her wonderful gift with the entire world._**


	21. Chapter 21 - Edification (AN EPILOGUE)

**Chapter 21** **–** **Edification (AN EPILOGUE)**

ANA

A funny thing happened back in January when I went to re-up on my birth control pills.

 _Well_ …at the time, it wasn't very _funny_ at all.  
In fact, I was absolutely devastated.

Kate actually got to witness the whole thing.

See, the reason why the free clinic near Zion required quarterly checkups instead of the standard yearly ones is because the clinic doesn't care to waste tax payers' dollars on such things as _birth control,_ especially if the girl is already pregnant.

Once I arrive at the doctor's office, I'm expecting them to just shove a thermometer down my throat and press a stethoscope against my back, and then call it a day. No – they also made me pee in a cup. Twenty minutes later, the nurse practitioner, who was no longer her usual chipper self, popped into the examination room while Kate and I were in the middle of a conversation, and then proceeded to inform me that the doctor would be stopping by shortly. I found that to be odd since I've never actually had to see a doctor here at the free clinic.

When the doctor arrived in the exam room, she closed the door and then sat down right beside me donning one the most serious looks that I have ever seen on a stranger who was preparing to speak to me.

 _"_ _Hi, I'm Dr. Harris. I have some news to share with you.  
Would you like your friend to remain present?"_

I gaped at her.

Whatever it was, I was certain that the issue couldn't be _that_ serious. Then I thought – _I know that my eating habits are a beyond inconsistent. I've actually been eating a little less these days. Perhaps I'm simply lacking the proper nutrients._

 _"_ _Yeah…sure," I nervously responded._

Then she dropped the atomic bomb.

 _"_ _Miss Ana, I'm afraid we can't fill your prescription today.  
You're pregnant."_

 ** _"_** ** _What?!"_**

That was actually Kate's reaction, not mine.  
I was too busy suffocating on my own tongue.

I couldn't fucking believe it.

 _"_ _But_ _ **how**_ _?! She's on the pill!  
Your test is __**wrong**_ _!"_

Kate again. She said everything that I wish I could've said. I was _way_ too stunned to give a proper response at the time.

Then Dr. Harris said – _"Were you aware of the drug manufacturer's recall back during the first week of the month? If so, you would've found out about your pregnancy much sooner."_

 _A recall?!_ \- I thought. _On birth control pills?!_

In hindsight, that doctor reacted way too calmly. Perhaps I didn't pay it any mind at the time since Kate and I were freaking out enough for the three of us, as well as for everyone else inside of that medical building.

I'd later find out that the clinic tried contacting me by phone regarding the recall when it was first announced. However, they couldn't reach me on my old cell since I'd left it at Christian's place. Also, the only physical address the clinic had listed for me was at Zion, and I no longer worked there.

Kate was absolutely beside herself. She reacted as if this life altering thing was happening to _her_ – but it wasn't. It was happening to _me_. **_I_** was pregnant, not her. Once the doctor stepped out to allow me to compose myself, Kate began overwhelming me with a barrage of questioning, but I was too numb to even pay her any mind. Soon, she took heed to my silence and ceased fire. When it was good and quiet in the room, I finally began to hear myself think.

 _You're pregnant.  
You're single __**and**_ _pregnant._

 _Christian doesn't even want children._

 ** _He doesn't want this baby._**

 _You_ _ **can't**_ _keep it._

After the last thought entered my mind, I absolutely lose it. I break down into a sobbing pool of goo, and Kate instantly takes pity on me. Later that day at the apartment, I explained to her that Christian had once told me that he never wanted to get married _or_ have kids, which pretty much places me in a bind. I expected her to eviscerate my ex, but to my complete surprise, Kate began to redirect the conversation away from him.

 _"_ _Regardless of what you decide to do – in the end,  
the drug company who provided you with those  
inactive pills are one hundred percent liable.  
Let's get to the bottom of that, first.  
Afterwards, whatever you decide to do,  
I will support you."_

Kate then mentioned the idea of hiring an attorney. Granted, I have some money in the bank left over from my dealings with Christian, but I wasn't certain if that would be enough to retain a lawyer. That's when I decided to reach out to Betsy. I knew that she had some experience about law being that she helped out her husband Josh at his practice.

 _"_ _Oh, my goodness – Ana…"_ – she gasped when I told her the news over the phone.

 _"_ _Does Christian know?"_

All I could think was – _If I decide to keep this child, I'll be in this alone._

I began crying all over again.

I never answered Betsy's question because she'd already knew the answer. Instead, she informed me that I indeed had a case aside from any potential class action suit, and then she asked if it would be okay if she talked to Josh about my situation. I agreed.

At the time, I believed that my _situation_ was beyond fucked up. I thought that I did everything right. I remained a virgin until the age of twenty-one. When I became sexually active, I was in a monogamous relationship while on the pill. Still, life has this way of shitting on you even when you think that you're doing all of the right things.

Granted, the situation that Christian and I were in wasn't necessarily ideal in the first place. I signed a _client-artist agreement_ with him for fuck's sake. I got paid to dance for him at a very nice hotel, and dancing _always_ led to sex. It wasn't spelled out in the contract, but we silently knew that dancing and sex were a packaged deal. It didn't matter whether or not I was on my period; we fucked because we both wanted to. Hell, I even begged him to deflower me in the first place. Of course, being on the pill helped make the decision an easy one.

 _Look how well_ _ **that**_ _turned out._

Then another thought crossed my mind…

 _How many girls at Zion before the fall of Jay Dark  
had unprotected sex with __**their**_ _clients, but in Private Row?_

After pondering on that very notion, I immediately found myself dialing Becky. She freaks after I explained what happened, and she patches in Miranda. Miranda panics too, so she pulls Starla in on the call. Starla was temporarily silent after hearing Miranda's news about the drug recall. After a while of not speaking, Starla finally says –

 _"_ _I didn't think that it had anything to do with a recall.  
I just thought that I was the unlucky point-zero-three percent."_

 _Oh. My. God._

The three of us gasped out loud at Starla's statement.

 _"_ _You're…pregnant?" Becky asked nervously._

I appreciated Becky not throwing in ' _too'_ , since we hadn't broached that area of the conversation with Starla quite yet. Regardless of my current state of affairs, it really didn't feel very good telling a brand-new soul about my surprise pregnancy, all while the man who took part in it remained completely in the dark.

Starla took a brief pause before correcting Becky.

 _"_ _Was."_

 _Holy shit_ – I thought. I had so many questions running circles around in my head. I was no longer thinking about my circumstances. I was now considering all of the things possibly traversing Starla's mind.

 _She must be in pieces right now_ – I said to myself at the time.

 _"_ _Oh my god," gasped Miranda.  
"Did you know who…?"_

 _"_ _I'm not_ _ **proud**_ _…"_ – Starla interrupted, and it was more than obvious that she was fighting back sobs.

 _"…_ _but I'll be damned if I have to tell some kid later on in life  
that his father never loved me and that I never loved him;  
and that his father was just some drunken rich German asshole  
who was way too upset that he couldn't outbid __**another**_ _rich guy  
for a dance with a __**different**_ _girl, that he actually forced himself on me."_

That was when I nearly collapsed.

There were fucking cameras in that room, yet no one stopped Stefan Neumann from violating Starla. I have no doubt that there's a special circle of hell for people like Jay Dark and Lauren Moratti. At the time of hearing Starla's devastating news, I silently prayed that the two of them were in the county jail awaiting trial for their many violations while operating Zion. I hoped beyond hope that many women would begin coming forward to shed light on the type of business that Dark and Moratti were running by taking advantage young women who were at their absolute lowest point.

Only because Christian outbid Neumann, Neumann went on to… _oh my god_ – I don't even want to even _think_ about the things that he did to Starla. And no one at Zion at the time did anything.

While on the phone, I began crying my eyes out, so the girls all hang up and rush over to my apartment in Vancouver. I hated that Kate had to meet them under such negative circumstances, but I was glad that my best friend connected with the ladies who at the time had been my rock for the past four months. The fact that Starla knew Kate's father and mother _very well_ never came up. That was a non-issue compared to Starla's present crisis.

Starla didn't discover that she was pregnant until a week after our _girls' night_ outing back in November. At the time, there was no news about any recall; that wouldn't happen until early January. The moment the doctor informed Starla that the cause of her ongoing painful heartburn was attributed to pregnancy, she knew right away when it occurred. Without telling a soul, and without a second thought, she immediately _reversed_ the situation.

My heart absolutely broke for her. Never have I hated anyone as much as I _hate_ Stefan Neumann…the very predator Christian saved me from.

 _But why didn't anyone save Starla?_

Later that night, Starla and I had some time to ourselves in my bedroom away from the other girls. She insisted that we have a quick chat alone.

 _"_ _I know you're still in shock," she said as we both sat on the edge of my bed._

 _"Yeah," I sighed. "I'm just torn over what happened to you."_

 _"_ _I wasn't talking about me," she smiled.  
"I'm talking about __**you**_ _."_

 _"_ _I'm not even thinking about me right now."_

 _"_ _You should be."_

I recall blinking at her words.

 _"_ _My situation was very different," she qualifies.  
"_ _ **He**_ _raped me.  
Let's call it what it is."_

 _I narrow my eyes.  
"Yes – he absolutely did."_

 _"_ _But_ _ **you**_ _were in love."_

Her words stunned me, but the moment Starla placed her hand on my belly, I was shaken to the core.

 _"_ _This child was conceived in love," she uttered,  
"and __**will**_ _ **be**_ _loved by someone…no matter what."_

At that moment, I began running the dates in my head – when I received and started taking the bad pills; all the times that Christian and I had sex between November and December…which was _a lot_. I couldn't figure it out at the time; I only knew that whenever we were together, there was no one else in the world that mattered _but_ him.

He was my _everything_.

It wouldn't be until after my first official prenatal visit when I could get a little more accurate with my conception date. Then I had my first ultrasound and was given the gestational age of the little blip taking up residence in my uterus. After doing the math again, all signs pointed to the night when Christian and I had victory sex at The Heathman after foiling Jay Dark.

I recalled that night as if it happened just the night before. I was _begging_ Christian… begging him to go faster, but he insisted on taking it slow. Damn him. He was making sweet love to me and neither of us knew the impact of that moment at the time.

Later, that love we made would produce the most beautiful thing in this entire world.

But I'm getting _way_ ahead of myself.

Back in darker times – I received a call from Betsy telling me that Josh wanted to speak to me. She puts him on the phone.

 _"_ _Hey Ana – so, my source tells me that a bitter former chemist  
who worked for the drug company was the originator of those  
faulty pills that made their way over to the free clinic near the club.  
Approximately fifteen women were affected."_

I recall gaping at the phone as I responded.

 _"_ _Fifteen?"_

 _"_ _So far, the records show that only you and one other woman  
reportedly conceiving while taking the drug.  
The other thirteen women were certainly at risk,  
as well as every single woman who has ever taken the drug."_

 _"_ _ **Reportedly**_ _? I'm pregnant, dammit!" I said, outraged._

 _He chuckled nervously. "That's just legalese. You and I know very well…_

 _"…_ _and so was Starla McMillan."_

 _"_ _Wait a minute. Starla?  
Starla from the club?"_

 _"_ _Yes."_

 _"_ _Has she been in contact with the firm that's  
spearheading the class action suit?"_

 _"_ _What class action suit?"_

 _"_ _There's a class action suit against the drug company.  
And if she was made aware about the bad pills,  
she would've known about the suit as well."_

I'd later discover that Starla wanted absolutely nothing to do with that class action lawsuit – she'd only wanted to put the entire trauma behind her. No matter how much the girls and I tried to convince her to not only get what was owed to her from the suit but to reveal to the authorities what Neumann did to her and what Jay Dark and Lauren Moratti subjected her to, she wasn't hearing it. She was still working at Zion. With everything, she trusted Karen and Sasha House and knew that they would keep her safe from here on out. Starla didn't want to relive those dark times back when Sasha's father was in charge in front of some court of law. She didn't want to have to confront what she did to erase the awful thing that happened to her.

 _"_ _But it never really goes away"_ – she said to me once.

A few weeks later, I get another call from Josh.

 _"_ _First of all, how are you?"_

 _"_ _I've been better," I sighed._

 _"_ _I have news."_

 _"_ _Good or bad?"_

 _"_ _It depends on how you take it."_

I remember him sounding somewhat upbeat at the time.

 _"_ _You're probably looking at fifty thousand right out the bat  
from the class action settlement. But on top of that,  
the drug company would like to offer you an additional settlement.  
In essence, they want to pay you twenty million dollars to be quiet."_

I started hyperventilating.

 _"_ _Ana – are you okay?" Josh said, concerned.  
"If you want more than that, we could negotiate,  
or push for a civil case.  
You wanna aim for fifty?"_

 _"_ _ **Million**_ _?" I choked._

 _No, Ana…fifty dollars_ – my mind snarked once my very words echoed back to me.

 _Pregnancy brain is definitely a real thing._

I didn't know about anyone else, but twenty million _plus_ fifty thousand dollars is a shit ton of money in my book. It's beyond enough to take care of me and the blip for the rest of our lives. I didn't want to be in court in some long, drawn out case after passing up a ridiculous amount of money for _fucking_ _ludicrous_ money.

I pretty much told Josh to stick with simply _the ridiculous_. He later said – _"I highly suggest that you get in contact with a financial advisor and an accountant to begin making some good decisions with your settlement money."_

And I knew just the person. Thanks to Google, I had zero difficulty locating his business line.

 _"_ _Dawson Jacobs, here," he answered the call in that hot little accent of his._

 _Sweet lord_ – I thought upon hearing his voice.

 _"_ _Hello, my name is Anastasia Steele and I need your help."_

 _"_ _Um…sure. Did the receptionist just forward your call to me?"_

 _"_ _Yes – after I asked her to."_

He was thrown off guard.

 _"_ _So, how do you know me?"_

 _"_ _Well…I know that you run a successful digital accounting  
firm and you also have experience in the area of finance."_

He cleared his throat.

 _"_ _Alright. Wait a sec…you sound vaguely familiar.  
Where have we met?"_

 _"_ _I used to serve you when I waited tables at an exclusive restaurant."_

He was floored and immediately guessed that _Anastasia_ is actually _London's_ real name.

 _"_ _I am so happy you called me," he gushed.  
"I haven't been able to stop thinking about you since you quit the club.  
What have you been up to after all this time?"_

The gist of what I said to him –

 _Dawson, remember the crazy guy who swooped in and yanked me from your lap the last time we saw each other? Well, he also yanked me away from my job and began screwing my brains out whenever he came to town, which was weekly. I mean, things were great until they weren't great anymore, so I decided to leave._

 _In all seriousness, I fell in love with him hard and fast, but in the end, things just didn't quite work out between us. However, a little thing happened while we were still together, but I didn't discover it until after I left; I managed to get knocked up due to some bad pills. I just received a huge settlement from the drug maker… In the meantime, my baby's daddy has been trying to get back with me, but he has no idea that I'm pregnant with his child…_ _ **oh**_ _– and by the way, he hates kids and will probably want me to get rid of it. So, can you help me keep my new windfall under wraps, so he doesn't figure out what I've been up to?_

He was utterly stunned by everything that I said, to say the least. After some back and forth,

Dawson said – _"Twenty million dollars is a_ _ **lot**_ _of money. You sure you want to just sit on that? What about investing it?"_

 _"_ _That's why I'm calling you. What should I do –  
invest in stocks and bonds? Maybe put some away  
for the baby and donate the rest to charity?"_

 _"_ _Sure… you could do all of those things."_

 _"_ _What about starting a business?  
Is that enough for me to start my own  
independent publishing company?" I asked._

 _"_ _Well… that's a novel idea – no pun intended," he chuckled.  
"Let's discuss the prospect. Can we meet in person?"_

Two days later, I meet Dawson at Hudson's Bar and Grill, which isn't far from where I lived. I hadn't the first clue what I wanted to do with all of that money, but I grew more and more interested in the idea of becoming an independent publisher. So, I prepared a little bit before our meeting and was able to tell Dawson that I wanted to venture into the area of eBooks, specifically.

After hearing my spiel, he was very impressed that I'd done my homework. He was able to give me some very good insight and then promised me that he'd follow up with me concerning how I should proceed with my goal moving forward. Dawson also told me about the many things that I could do to keep my financial activity safely under the radar from prying eyes. I was relieved.

After dinner, the tone of our cordial business dinner takes such a drastic shift that I nearly get whiplash.

 _"_ _You know…I really dig you," he said to me.  
"You're drop dead gorgeous  
…highly intelligent  
…extremely witty.  
You're an insanely talented dancer,  
which I never knew until the night you quit the club.  
Believe it or not, you've always been my ideal girl."_

I remember being flabbergasted by his sudden _excessive_ praise.  
Literally, it seemed to have come from left field.

 _You do know I'm knocked up, right?_ – I immediately thought.

 _"_ _Dawson, I'm flattered…_ _ **really**_ _.  
Especially being pregnant with  
another guy's kid and all," I said in reply. _

He laughed.

 _"_ _You being with child doesn't bother me at all.  
I really dig you, Ana. I think that we should date."_

 _Huh?!_ – I thought at the time.

I then speculated – _Maybe he's heard all the rumors about how horny pregnant women get and he simply wants to test that theory. Or perhaps he already knows from personal experience that this is indeed the case, so he fetishizes pregnant chicks._

I knew the very premise was ridiculous – _still_ , I needed an explanation as to why he's not bothered being with someone who's already _used up_ by someone else. For goodness' sake, he's beyond attractive, rich and single. Why would he want to date _me_ , a pregnant young woman?

The only way I could think to respond at the time was to laugh out loud.

 _"_ _I hope you're not just feeling sorry for me simply because  
I am going to be a single mom," I chuckled._

 _"_ _Not at all.  
You being pregnant doesn't change anything, Ana.  
You're still the girl that I want to be with."_

I thought _– Holy shit._

 _"_ _And besides," he continues while my jaw drops to the floor,  
"it's not like you __**need**_ _my help.  
You're obviously going to be doing quite well for yourself."_

I laughed nervously once more.

 _"_ _I had the misfortune of taking a prescription from  
a drug company who had a very shitty former employee –  
who's now facing criminal charges.  
I wouldn't say that I'm 'doing quite well'."_

 _"_ _That's not what I meant," he rebutted.  
"What I meant is that you have your head on straight.  
You are thinking about venturing into business,  
which I hadn't even considered back when I was your age.  
It wasn't until I turned twenty-five and hated my job  
that I decided to take the leap myself.  
Also, anyone else in your position would just live off  
the millions and not want to ever work again."_

 _"_ _I can't see myself not working," I said to him.  
"Now that I have the means, I want to make my dream  
of working in publishing come true."_

 _"_ _See," he beamed all sexily while pointing a finger at me.  
"That's exactly what I'm talking about.  
By the way, you'll actually be running your  
own company, which pretty bloody cool."_

I recall giggling at his enthusiasm. Again, I didn't know how else to respond during that very uncomfortable exchange at the time.

 _"So, let me get straight to the point"_ – he shifted. Once I saw how serious his eyes were, I immediately stopped smiling and laughing.

 _"_ _You need a real man, sweet London;  
a man who doesn't get shaken when their lady  
needs them the most.  
You don't need to be doubting your guy's dedication  
to you if he did his job as a man.  
Give me a chance and I'll show you that you'll  
never __**ever**_ _have to doubt my devotion to you.  
I'll treat you just like the queen you are.  
And if you let me some day,  
I'll be a good father to your little one."_

 _Holy fuck._

I couldn't hide behind a bashful but polite smile anymore. Dawson was as serious as a heart attack. Hell – I was even convinced that he was everything that he said he was. As Ray always says – _A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush_. Here's this hot guy who has everything and who really wants to be there for me no matter what. Any girl in their right mind would jump at his offer; but I am no such girl.

I am insane.

 _Insanely in love with Christian._

 _"_ _Dawson, you are…_ _ **lovely**_ _…" I started._

I'm trembling on the inside because I absolutely loathe being the bearer of bad news.

 _"…_ _I'm lovely,_ _ **but**_ _…" he interjected with an ironic smirk._

I sighed.

 _"_ _You are_ _ **amazing**_ _– and I'm totally out of my mind for turning you down.  
It's just…my life is a little __**complicated**_ _at the moment."_

 _'_ _Complicated'_. I absolutely hate that word.

 _"_ _Well…it doesn't have to be," he crooned._

I remember my heart sinking at the time.

 _"_ _Look…we could just date and see how things go," he added anxiously._

 _"_ _That's not a good idea," I said, shaking my head.  
"I need to mend my broken heart."_

 _"_ _And like I said – I want to help you do that."_

 _Fuck me._

It was like talking to a brick wall; Dawson would not budge.  
Yet, I stood my ground.

 _"_ _In a few months, it'll no longer just be me.  
I'll have a child to raise."_

 _"_ _If I were a betting man, I'd say things  
will progress well between us.  
It wouldn't be farfetched if you  
and I were married by the end of the year."_

 _Holy…_ _ **moly**_ _._

 _"_ _And before you say it…_ _ **no**_ _, I don't need a green card,  
thank you very much," he chuckled. _

He quickly returned to being serious.

 _"_ _I'm just a man who knows exactly what he wants  
and isn't afraid to say so."_

Dawson was beyond unreal. At the time, it pained me not want him the very same. But what hurt even more was that Dawson Jacobs was the one sitting across from me saying all of the right things instead of the father of my child. And regardless of how things ended up between us, Christian Grey was my _Mr. Right_.

Don't get me wrong, _Mr. Right-Now_ over there was no slim pickings, but I knew that saying _'yes'_ to him would've been totally wrong. He would have never truly had my heart because it belonged to another.

To my surprise, he eventually figured it out. Disappointed, he said –

 _"_ _You're still stuck on Grey, eh?"_

I remember nodding while on the verge of tears.

 _Finally, he understood._

Dawson and I never spoke again about that night. From that moment on, our dealings only pertained to launching my publishing business as well as the management of my personal finances. Despite that awkward night at Hudson's, Dawson is truly a godsend. Not only did he help me jumpstart my business plan, but he also assisted with getting my investments squared away. That was key for me since I've never had so much money in all of my life and neither had my folks; therefore, his knowledge about finances and accounting was beyond invaluable.

Mr. Jacobs was also instrumental in helping me keep my finances as discrete as possible in case someone so happened to be tempted to snoop around to see what I've been up to. I wasn't one hundred percent certain that it would happen, but I wanted to be safe.

I nearly passed out when Christian called literally the day after I met up with Dawson. Then Christian decided to show up to my apartment two days after that. At the time, I'd just finished barfing my head off into the toilet. I was nearly on the way out until I heard a commotion followed by very loud voices. The next thing I knew, I heard Kate yell out Christian's name. Then he started calling out for me. I froze.

Nearly a week after he left, Mia and Elliot stop by. It was my first-time meeting Christian's siblings, but it didn't seem that way; we immediately connected as though I'd already knew them. However, their kindness wasn't enough to ease my frazzled nerves. I was certain that they'd figure out that I was hiding something underneath my oversized Cougars sweatshirt.

When Mia reached over to hug me, I nearly freaked out. Still – my pregnancy remained unnoticed, much to my surprise. I knew that at the time, I was being extremely hard on myself and my ever-changing body, but I'd later discover that I was carrying the baby quite well. If my professors or my classmates ever knew that I was pregnant while I was still student, they never let me in on it.

Besides the stress of a surprise pregnancy and the pain of shutting Christian out of my life, I had to deal with the aftermath of what happened to Starla. One morning before class, I called Betsy on a whim and invited her and Josh to meet me on campus for lunch. I wanted to know what we could do as a collective to help Starla. At lunch, Josh informed me that he'd already tried talking to her, but she quickly shut him down. I immediately broke down in public at the news. Pregnancy hormones only magnified my emotional state.

The next day, Starla so happened to call to check up on me in between classes, which absolutely blew my mind because I was much more worried about _her_ at the time than I was about myself. Soon, I began to plead for her to come forward about what happened to her, and she immediately dismissed it like she did with Josh. I then told her that even though her assaulter had been deported to Germany for white-collar crimes that Christian helped bring to the surface, Neumann could still be charged and tried for what he did to her.

But when it comes to facing her trauma, Starla was as hard as stone; impenetrable. I remember crying while talking to her on the phone outside the building of my next class, pleading with her to take justice for herself. Nope – Starla was as petrified as a statue. I don't know if it was her fear of Neumann retaliating and making her out to be a liar in the public eye, or she simply just didn't want to relive that painful moment in court … _period_.

Oddly enough, the following day, fifty grand mysteriously showed up in my bank account. I thought that it was over-payment for the class action settlement. I'd already received payment for it about a week prior. But after checking in with Dawson, he informed me that it came from a _'mysterious source'_.

All signs pointed to Christian.

 _Why would he do that?_ – I thought. So, I decided to transition my former regular account into a special savings account for the baby. Unbeknownst to Christian, that money was going to his own flesh and blood. I'd already opened separate accounts under a DBA that Josh had set up for my publishing business. I also had another secret account that I used for my daily living expenses.

Knowing very well that Christian could have me followed at any moment made me extremely paranoid, so I had to ensure that all of my ducks were in a row. My finances weren't the only thing I took precaution over. I also had to be extra careful where I went and who I was seen with. That's the primary reason why I chose to see a doctor on campus for my initial prenatal visits.

From that time until about a week before graduation, I was preparing my heart to move to Georgia with my mother. However, as the day drew closer, the thought of moving south didn't quite settle with me.

Then came the morning of – and Kate barged into my room to rant about Christian being the mystery keynote speaker. That was the sign that I'd been waiting for.

Throughout, Christian had been relentless. The weekly flowers, the money, causing the cops to be called, and finally, sending over his brother and sister to talk me into taking him back. But him accepting the last-minute invite to be the primary speaker at _my_ commencement was definitely some next level shit. Christian was now the world champion of begging and pleading. He'd set the bar extremely high for men who desire to fight for their lost love. No one could say _'sorry'_ better than him.

It was at that moment that I knew I owed it to him to finally be open and honest with him about this upcoming baby.

….

I knew that I'd eventually have to tell my dad sooner or later about my pregnancy, but I didn't figure that it would happen as soon as it did.

One Saturday, Ray stopped by the apartment after tending to a business matter locally. When he pressed me to go to with him to one of my favorite soup shops in Portland for lunch, I told him that I wasn't too feeling hot. See…during my first trimester and for most of the second, morning sickness – _no_ , more like _all fucking day sickness_ – had taken its toll on me. The only thing that I could keep down at the time was pretty much bread and French fries. Anything else I ate was simply bound to come back up and out at any moment without any advance notice.

All of a sudden, Ray started to recall the time when I stayed home from classes ill, but he had no idea that I was just sore from being sexed into next week. But in Ray's eyes, he could only see a potential chronic illness and he would not let up as he continued to urge me to see a doctor.

 _"_ _I'll drive you myself."_ – he said.

And suddenly, I couldn't hide it anymore. I started to cry, and he froze. My taciturn father doesn't know what to do when he sees extreme emotion coming his way. His internal sensory system gets overwhelmed and he doesn't know exactly how to respond.

But after a beat, he rushed to my side on the sofa, pulled me into him, and began to comfort me.

 _"_ _Annie, what's going on?"_

 _"_ _Daddy…promise me you won't  
hate me when I tell you," I sobbed._

He winched. Even in the midst of my many tears, I made the conscious effort to call him _'Daddy'_ , breaking out the big guns. I needed him to know who he was to me and how much I needed him, just as I did when I was his little girl.

 _"_ _Oh…_ _ **hogwash**_ _. I could never hate you.  
You're my sweet little Annie.  
You'll always be."_

 _"_ _Not anymore," I sniffled._

 _"_ _I don't care what you tell me. There's nothing that you could  
say that would ever stop me from loving you.  
You're my __**daughter**_ _for Christ's sake."_

 _"_ _But I'll be a great disappointment to you.  
To Mom."_

 _"_ _Not_ _ **you**_ _," he said adamantly.  
"You don't have the capacity to ever let me down."_

So immediately, I tested his theory.

 _"_ _I'm pregnant."_

From the moment of that reveal onward, Ray undeniably began to see me in a much different light. Growing up, I've always been that non-threatening, perfect little girl that all parents wished for. I was often polite and agreeable; I always came home _way_ before curfew; I earned all A's in school no matter what new city and state we lived in to due to Ray's traveling military career.

I'd never been the type of girl who'd sneak out of her bedroom window at night, nor did I bother skipping classes during the day just to hang around boys. Instead, I was the laser-focused little bookworm who very much enjoyed staying home and watching old flicks with my dad, while other girls my age were busy making out with boys at _Lover's Lane_ – a secluded little area by Lake Sylvia. But at the very beginning of my senior year in college, the light suddenly switched on. The moment I met Christian Grey, in an instant, I turned into a woman.

I started to dance.  
I started to _feel_.

 _Good ol' Annie from Montesano_ would have never answered a sketchy ad posted in some free _'take-one'_ metropolitan-area publication. And after hearing how risqué the business was during the interview, that same girl would have never showed up for the first day of work.

But up to that point, I hadn't felt so desperate to tackle something all on my own for a change. I was finally sick of running to my parents _or_ Kate every time a crisis would hit. This was my first opportunity to be my own person; a woman. And things seemed to go fine until Christian Trevelyan Grey completely turned my life on its head.

Even during the moment of being gaped at like an alien by my father after dropping a major bomb on him, I still found it difficult to regret anything that had happened to me up to that point. Because I took the job at Zion, I made some lifelong friends – Miranda, Starla, Elaine, Sweetness, and especially Becky and Betsy. And if it weren't for the drama at Zion, I wouldn't have managed to forge a solid friendship with Sasha – who I admittingly couldn't stand when I first met her during sophomore year. What that entire experience taught me was invaluable; you can never truly know what someone's going through unless you sit down and talk to them.

So, once Ray was rudely introduced to this _brand new me_ , it would take some time for him to begin to feel comfortable around me again. All while I was in school and pregnant, it was a rather difficult pill for him to swallow. If my dad's nothing else, he's old school. Thinking back to my childhood, part of me now wonders if he was swift to marry my young widowed mother while I was an infant because he wanted to ensure that society didn't view her in a certain way.

Surely, he loved her – but couldn't he have just waited a little while longer to ensure that they were right for each other? Granted, sixteen years of marriage isn't anything to sneeze at, but I also can't help but wonder if the true reason why they stuck together for so long was so that I wouldn't get hurt.

 ** _Always protect your child._** That was something that I quickly picked up on during the time reality started to really sink in that _I_ was going to be a mother before the end of summer. And regardless of how old school my parents were, I wasn't going to be forced to take the same stance as they would have at my age. I was resolved to make certain that my child remained safe and secure – and equally as importantly, _wanted_ and _loved_.

 _Even if that means keeping his or her own father at arm's length._

In spite of me explaining to Ray that Christian never wanted children _or_ a wife, he didn't necessarily agree with my decision to keep my pregnancy a secret from him.

 _"_ _He still has a right to know…"_ – he said at the time.

 _"_ _Whether or not he decides to step up  
and be a father remains to be seen."_

 _"_ _He won't do it," I told Ray. "Why should I even tell him of  
this baby's existence if he's only going to wish that  
it were never born? He wouldn't be the wiser  
if he's not even aware of the child in the first place."_

 _"_ _Annie, Annie, Annie," he signed and shook his head while  
massaging his temples. "That's the wrong attitude to have.  
And besides, it costs loads of money to raise a child, believe it or not.  
Even if the daddy doesn't stick around, he can still help."_

That's one thing I never believed in. How I see it – if I made the solo choice to keep this child against the wishes of its biological father, I have no right to force the issue of support.

"Look, I'll be fine, financially," I remember telling Ray. "There's a class action suit against the manufacturer of the birth control pills."

I remember the very sight of my stepfather's frustration with me.

 _"_ _But a child needs his mama_ _ **and**_ _daddy."_

Ray was all over the place at the time. Every time I'd bring up a new argument, he'd simply contradict his previous statement. But one thing remained clear throughout his disagreement with me – he absolutely believed that Christian had every right to know. And my frame of mind at the time was that regardless of what seemed to be the right thing to do, I didn't feel that Christian was fully prepared to hear the truth. I could sense in my bones that he wasn't ready to receive life changing news like that.

 _He needed more time to grow._

And as long as he kept sending me flowers every Monday, I knew that he was at least _trying_ to change. As time moved on, he was learning the art patience and endurance. Strangely enough, so was I. There were many times I'd read the card that he sent with the flowers, and I'd immediately wanted to break my cover, reach out to him, and tell him how much I loved him, too. But the moment I'd imagined his cold reaction and immediate rejection upon telling him that I was carrying his child… ** _our_** child, I quickly shied away from contacting him.

Back to Ray. Before he finally left my apartment that afternoon, he made me promise that I'd call my mother and break the news to her as well. At least I could visibly see the disappointment on my father's face when I told him, even though he never said anything that made me feel like complete scum. However, Carla didn't bother to bite her tongue. Her dissatisfaction was very evident in her tone _and_ in her choice of words.

 _"_ _I don't know where I failed," she sighed in defeat.  
"Actually, I do. I failed to give you stability as a teen.  
That was my fault.  
But still, I never thought you'd repeat my mistakes."_

 _Mistake?_ – I thought.

I was gutted, and I immediately started crying.

 _"_ _I'm sorry that I'm not the perfect daughter you  
always wanted me to be," I hissed in between the tears._

 _"_ _I never expected you to be_ _ **perfect**_ _," she strikes back, affronted._

 _"_ _You always used to say that you hoped to god that  
I never have children as young as you had me.  
But did it ever cross your mind that I could possibly  
be __**your**_ _daughter? Like you, I fell in love, Mom. And in spite of  
taking the proper precaution, I still got pregnant."_

After some very emotionally heated back and forth, my mother conceded with a chuckle.

 _"_ _Maybe you are my daughter.  
So, what are you going to do?"_

 _"_ _Finish this semester.  
Graduate.  
Raise my child."_

 _"_ _And where do you plan on doing that?"_

 _"_ _I don't know._ _ **Here**_ _.  
Maybe even move back in with Ray."_

 _"_ _Does Ray know?"_

 _"_ _Yes."_

I could tell that she was hurt that I told him first, but I knew that he'd react much better than she would. I was right.

After finally composing herself, my mother said – _"And Christian is still out of the picture?"_

 _"_ _Yep. He's not a big fan of kids."_

 _"_ _Did he tell you this?"_

 _"_ _Yes. Back when we were still together."_

Carla didn't seem quite convinced that anyone could feel this way, especially concerning their own child.

" _Perhaps he only feels that way about other people's children.  
I can totally relate to that," she argued._

 _"_ _No – he literally told me:  
_ _ **'Some are cat people, some are dog people,  
and some are children people'**_ _."_

 _"_ _Well damn," she sighed.  
"I guess you can't get any clearer than that.  
Well…screw him. We don't need him."_

I remember at the time feeling relieved at hearing my mother say the word _'we',_ but then my spirit came crashing back down after digesting the last part of her statement. I wasn't prepared to say that I didn't need him.

I wasn't ready to write him off.

….

I held back my panic as I walked off that stage with my diploma in hand after spilling the news to Christian. His eloquent speech had managed to touch me earlier, and I was led to believe that he was willing to do anything and everything in order for us to get back together. But in spite of that, I couldn't help but fear that him knowing I am now pregnant completely changes everything. Maybe becoming a father was the _'I won't do that'_ in Christian's most recent _I'll do anything for love_ journey.

Later, after exiting the ceremony and snatching off my robe, I find Ray in the reception tent out back. Although he hugged me and then kissed my forehead in greeting, I still couldn't help but to think that I'd been a great disappointment to him since he found out that I was pregnant.

 _"_ _I saw him on stage holding up the line a good while to speak to you,"  
he said, cutting right to the chase._

 _"_ _He wants to take me to London as my graduation gift,"  
I told him before placing the red envelope Christian gave me in his hands._

Ray never opened it, but he kept it in his hand. He didn't cease to remain his old taciturn self.

 _"_ _Did you tell him the news?"_

I nodded regretfully.

 _"_ _What did he say?" he asked._

 _"I didn't really give him a chance to answer._  
 _If he doesn't show up to the reception, then that means…"_

Like clockwork, the now dense crowd suddenly parted and revealed Christian, who looked as if he were searching for something or someone. But the moment that our eyes met, it was as if we were the only two people in that tent.

He proceeded towards my father and I, now appearing lost. All I could think was that he only came back here to tell Ray and I that he's absolutely not interested in the package cooking under my oversized floral maxi dress.

Christian steps to Ray first and introduces himself. Gruffly my dad tells him that he already knows exactly who he is, but it doesn't stop Christian from remaining polite and extending his hand to him.

 _"_ _Mr. Steele, I apologize that we have to meet under these circumstances,  
but Anastasia never…"_

Before Christian could finish his sentence, in swoops Kate with her brother Ethan in tow. Right behind them were their parents. At the time Kate's going above and beyond trying to be nice to everyone, including Christian. I wasn't fooled; I knew exactly what she was doing. Kate assumed that Ray and Christian were just seconds away from going at it, however I knew that's not where the talk was headed.

Ethan cordially greeted Ray and then pulled me in for a hug. It wasn't a long one, because Mr. Grey managed to gently separate me from my best friend's brother by claiming my arm. Suddenly, Ethan looked down at my belly and then gaped up at me.

 _"_ _Hey, are you…"_

…but Kate cuts him off by talking over him with a brand-new subject, while Christian proceeded to surprise me yet again by wrapping a possessive arm around my waist.

I remember feeling odd being held so tightly by Christian after revealing to him that I was pregnant. At the time, he's holding on to me like everything's okay, yet we hadn't had a chance to _really_ talk about _this_ ; about _us_. Regardless of that fact, I knew that he wasn't necessarily thrilled about the situation because he hadn't smiled not once.

Although, Kate's motormouth certainly wasn't helping the situation at the moment.

Kate completely takes over and proceeds to bring up random things. She talks about how her speech went better than expected, while quickly slipping in how motivational _'Mr. Grey's'_ speech was, which followed hers. She then babbles on about how they had two completely different speeches, but they both tied into the same theme of striving for success.

Christian's annoyance with Kate's interference at this point was now apparent. But that wasn't the only awkward moment. There stood Kate's parents who practically had an open relationship with my other friend, Starla at one time. _Geez._ And now they were studying Christian and me.

I just wanted that moment to be over.

Eventually they leave when I assured Kate with my eyes that everything was fine before she so kindly interfered. So, she happily takes her family away, leaving Ray, Christian and I.

We talked briefly, only for Ray to encourage Christian and I to finally talk to one another.

 _"_ _This…" he said, adamantly gesturing to both Christian and I,  
"…needs to happen.  
That baby's comin' regardless, so the two of you  
need to sort it all out before it does."_

I was taken aback by how blunt Ray was with us. Christian and I were practically left standing there in the parking lot like two scolded little children.

That night, the two of us had dinner at a nearby restaurant, and we talked…

 _"_ _You know why I couldn't tell you?"  
I said with tears pooling in my eyes._

 _"_ _Yeah… I know," he nodded regretfully.  
"I've been such an asshole."_

…and we talked some more.

….

I never made it to Savannah.

Nor did I move back home to Montesano.

The second I came clean to Christian on that stage, I no longer had a say about where I was going to live; it was going to be with _him_. I was completely blown away by his actions once he finally picked his jaw from the floor after I showed him that I was indeed _with child_. I nearly expected him to run out of the building and burn rubber in the parking lot right after the ceremony. I didn't expect him to still embrace me, along with a child that he never asked for.

It goes to show how pivotal _time_ was to Christian's transformation. I'd learn over the past year that he was indeed a brand-new person. Don't get me wrong – he's still the same old controlling, megalomaniac that he's always been; and crazy enough, I wouldn't have him any other way. But he treats me like nothing less than a queen. It's insane how much this man worships the ground that I walk on. I have to pinch myself each and every day.

 _Is this really my life?_

This newfound abundant joy that I found didn't have a name _or_ a face until August 25th.

Her name is Aurora Frances Grey.

During the first six months of my pregnancy, I didn't want to know the baby's sex. I wasn't feeling… _complete_ , so something inside of me knew that it wasn't quite time for me to find out what I was having. However, once Christian and I began to reconcile, the two of us agreed that at the next ultrasound we'd have the technician place the baby's sex inside of an envelope.

Sometime afterwards, I took that envelope to a local baker not too far from Christian's place at Escala and asked them to make a cupcake with a filling corresponding to the gender results. If it's a boy, it would be a blueberry filling; if it's a girl, strawberry.

I picked up the cupcake from the shop the next evening.

That night at Christian's, I plowed through Mrs. Jones pot roast, potatoes and asparagus like a starving goat. Out of nowhere, I'm eating like I've never eaten a bite before. As I did so, Christian tried very hard not to laugh, but does a piss poor job at hiding his utter amusement.

All of a sudden, he gets a very important call from work that he has to take in his office, so he apologizes and then kisses me on the forehead before stepping away. Meanwhile, I'm still hungry, even after a _huge_ dinner, and Christian is taking _forever_. So, I cracked open the fancy little cupcake box and proceeded to stuff it into my face. I'm nearly done eating the whole thing when Mrs. Jones steps foot into the dining room to check on us.

I still remember how wide her eyes got when she saw me.

 _"_ _My goodness…was that strawberry filling you just ate?"_

And like clockwork, Christian reappears, and he's absolutely flabbergasted that I ate the cupcake without him present.

 _"_ _Hey… it's a girl"_ – I mumbled with a full mouth while crumbs flew out of it.

He could only smirk and shake his head at me.

….

We wanted our little butterfly to have a graceful dancer's name.

Christian joked about _London_ as a prospect, but I didn't laugh when he suggested it. I couldn't imagine having to explain who _'London'_ was to our daughter once she reached that inevitable inquisitive age.

The name _Aurora_ fell into my lap while I was nearly nine months pregnant. Around that time, I waddled into the opera hall alongside Christian to see _The Sleeping Beauty_ ballet. The girl who portrayed Princess Aurora was absolutely astonishing.

So, Aurora it was.  
Or _Ari_ , as I'd later began calling her.

For Ari's middle name, I wanted to honor someone in either my family or Christian's. _Grace_ was indeed an option. My mother urged me to stray away from either _Carla_ or _Mae_. She felt that neither name did the angelic name _Aurora_ any justice.

Christian's birth mom was a very sore subject, so we quickly eliminated that name from the pool. Then I thought of Aurora _Rae_ – which is a different way to spell my stepfather's name, but then I imagined my poor little girl trying to pronounce those consecutive _R's_ while learning how to talk, and I couldn't possibly do that to her.

Then one day, I considered my birth father's name – _Franklin_. Even though I've never met him because he died the day after I was born, it doesn't negate the fact that he's a great part of why I even exist. He also meant a lot to my mom. However, there was no way in hell that I was naming our daughter Aurora _Franklin_ Grey. However, _Frank_ is short from Franklin, which is also short for _Francis_ or _Frances_.

Christian and I finally had a name for our angel, and an angel she is. I'm not just saying that because she's our daughter; indeed, she's the most beautiful little thing that I have ever seen. She's also the spitting image of her father, so even if Christian and I never reconciled, there was no avoiding facing his likeness on a daily basis. Ari is indeed daddy's little girl in every single way.

Two months ago, which was six months after Ari was born, Christian and I were able to finally take that long awaited trip to London. However, I told him that we couldn't be separated from the baby for two long weeks; I could only do five days at the most – _if_ that. So, Ari's aunt Mia and her grandparents took care of her while we were away. Although we had a glorious time alone in the UK, we desperately missed our little girl. There was no doubt that we annoyed the hell out of Grace and Mia with our constant facetiming with Ari.

Needless to say, life in Seattle has been absolutely wonderful.

Things here are definitely a sharp contrast to what it was like before I ran away from here that last time. Still, I'm not used to being the _lady of the house_ quite yet. I actually don't think that I deserve the title, but Christian still says that I am the _lady of the house_ , whether I feel like it or not. Regardless, I'll never be accustomed to telling other people what to do. However, I must admit that Mrs. Jones and Taylor have been a terrific help, especially with managing everything that's currently on my plate, including an energetic little baby girl.

 _Energetic is an understatement.  
I'm definitely dreading the day when she starts walking all over the place._

Another great thing about living here is that Kate lives close by. She's been a wonderful godmother to Ari. At one point, I thought that she and Christian's brother Elliot struck a chord with one another. But then he met my friend Miranda not too long after she'd broken up with her longtime on again/off again boyfriend. Pretty soon, Elliot was practically like: ' _Kate_ _ **who**_ _?_ '

Men. I'm sure that seeing _the artist formerly known as Bambi_ dance sealed the deal for Elliot. He's not unlike his brother when it comes to being moved by a woman's seductive hip-shaking. That aside, I think Elliot and Miranda are absolutely cute together. However, I'm not sure how long he'll continue with the long weekend commutes to Portland. Miranda loves working at Zion, while Elliot has his flourishing construction business here in Seattle.

Besides Kate being nearby, I'm also beyond thrilled that newlyweds Becky and Luke have relocated to Seattle. Luke is now employed as personal security for both me and the baby full time.

Getting back to my hang up with not feeling worthy of the title _lady of the house_ – it's definitely not due to the lack of Christian trying to make it official. Hell, every single night before we go to bed, he's constantly asking me to marry him; and each time, I chuckle in response. However, it doesn't stop him from trying again the very next night. Sometimes, he pops the question before we make love. On occasion, it's during sex. But most often, he asks after sex.

 _"_ _Ana, please"_ – he pleaded to me the other night.

 _"_ _Marry me."_

 _"_ _Aren't you happy with the  
way things are going right now?"_

 _"_ _Of course…  
but I want you to be my wife."_

 _"_ _I love you," I smiled  
just like a child avoiding the issue at hand._

 _"_ _Just say '_ _ **yes**_ _', and I'll finally stop bugging you,"  
he smirked right back._

" _'_ _I'm_ _ **never**_ _getting married'_ ," _  
I toss his past words back at him in a faux deep voice._

When his expression falls, he brings down me with him.

 _"_ _I was a fool," he sighed.  
"I also didn't want to be a father.  
Today, I couldn't imagine my life without Aurora in it."_

 _Be still, my beating heart._

It's hard to believe that the man who never wanted children in the first place is the absolute best father to our little girl. Every time she cries at night, he beats me out of bed to tend to her. I can't help but think that he'll be the _best_ husband, too. I mean…he's already the perfect boyfriend.

When he told me what he'd originally had planned for the London trip right after my graduation, I was taken aback. He's constantly reminding me that he's been holding on to that ring for a very long time, and he'll keep it close to his heart until I tell him _'yes'_. He vows to never stop asking me to marry him until he finally sees that ring perched on my finger.

All I could do was blush.

 _"_ _And now, I want to marry_ _ **you**_ _," he declared,  
holding my naked body even closer to his._

 _"_ _But we're already together, right?  
And we are parents to a beautiful little girl.  
Why change anything?  
I love us __**now**_ _."_

I can tell that he's getting increasingly frustrated with me, but I'm enjoying us living in the _now_. If it's not broke, why fix it? How many times have I've seen people who are together for years – and then they get married, only to divorce a short time afterwards?

Also, it's the twenty-first century, so shotgun weddings are no longer required, Mr. Grey.

….

During the day, I'm steadily getting my independent publishing company off the ground. Currently my office resides at home, which Christian recently had a space built for me. This way, I'm able to spend plenty of time with our daughter.

These days, I've been working with a woman named Michelle Day, who's a veteran in the industry. Very recently, she took a buyout from the large publisher she worked at for many years. She's now taken me under her wing. When I first started Steel Rose Publishing, I'd always assumed that my very first featured author would be in the nonfiction genre.

I am happy to say that our very first title comes from the self-help category. My friend and mentor, Miss Rita Joy Lords is helping to launch our publishing house with her spicy brand of advice in a book cheekily titled, **_"Come Lately?"_** It's everything you wanted to know about how to achieve the best orgasms by yourself, _or_ with a partner. Oddly enough, I made Christian read the manuscript, even though he said that he could in fact write his own book. _God knows he could._ I sigh at the very thought of his… _gift_ , but I digress.

After Christian sifted through the manuscript, he was so impressed that he offered to write the foreword. Joy was over the moon when I told her. I, on the other hand, couldn't believe that he'd shed his very private image in such a public way. I thought – _What would the community of stuffed-shirts think of him after learning that he's written the foreword to a sexually explicit book?_

But in the end, Christian's foreword stuck strictly to the book's mechanics while praising Joy's overall expertise. It wasn't like he mentioned that he'd tried out page 108 on me the night before he wrote his foreword, which he in fact did. _Sweet Jesus._ I shiver at the memory.

Right now, presales for Joy's book are beyond promising. This is before touring, which I'll be able to join her on a couple local dates when they happen. For the events that are further away in distance, Michelle will be assisting Joy, so I can remain at home with Ari.

By the way, Becky's been helping us a great deal, too. She's been promoting the hell out of Joy's presale all over Steel Rose's social media pages, as well as getting us connected with news and entertainment outlets that will allow us to capture a whole new audience. Joy's platforms have managed to gain thousands of brand-new followers who adore her sassily candid personality and her message of sexual savoir-faire and freedom.

She's certainly been a great help to me in this area since I've known her.

….

While I'm in my office working away, and Ari's napping nearby in her playpen, Christian comes waltzing in. He looks hot as sin in his _too-expensive_ suit, while I look like I just literally rolled out of bed to work in a ratty cami and shorts – which was indeed the case.

"Hey…what are you doing here?" I say, looking up at him from my computer. He stops at my chair and kisses me on the forehead.

"Can't I come home to have lunch with my two favorite girls?" he croons before kissing me once more.

"You might have to settle for one of us," I smirk, gesturing with my head towards a passed-out Ari. He chuckles.

"So…" he starts as he props himself against the edge of my desk while facing me. "That's not my only reason for being here. I just landed Joy a guest appearance on Dr. Drew's show to promote her book."

" _What_?" I gasp, wide eyed.

He proudly nods. "Yep. New York City in July. How does that sound?"

"Oh my God," I squeal before leaping up to my feet and throwing my arms around him. He chuckles but we quickly turn in unison to make sure that we didn't just wake Ari up.

 _Phew. Nope – she's still a bump on a log._

"Hey, maybe you, me, and Aurora can join her there," he says quietly.

I'm still beside myself that he even managed to pull such a feat.

"How'd you do it?" I whisper loudly.

He smirks and shrug his shoulders. "I have my ways."

"Thank you," I say before kissing him soundly.

Without a second thought, I reach for my cell behind him and locate the exact song I'm looking for on my playlist. I then adjust the volume as low as possible while still being able to hear Brian McKnight softly croon _Back At One_. And as if our bodies were synchronized, he and I lock together and begin to slow dance.

….

Later, after Ari's finally down for the night – _hopefully_ – Christian and I don't waste any time getting right down to business in our bedroom.

 ** _Our_** bedroom.

Goodness…it's going to take a little more time for me to get used to saying it, being that it took me getting pregnant to finally make it in here.

"Damn, Ana…you're _so_ ready," he groans once his fingers quickly dip between my skin and panties as his mouth attacks my throat.

"I'm a mom now, so I have to be ready at a moment's notice. It's now or never," I breathe out in desperation. He chuckles.

These days, I've been staying _far away_ from pills and the free clinic. Today, it's all about the best doctors, the best medicine, and _the shot_. If I didn't jump back on the birth control bandwagon after having Ari, I'd probably already be pregnant again by now. Christian and I can't keep our hands off each other. Normally, I'd do a little dance for him before we get to this point. However tonight, we're both _very_ tired and only have time for a quickie.

This time, we don't even get my underwear or t-shirt _nor_ his pants completely off before he slides into me. We both groan in relief before he starts his sweet, sweet horizontal tango.

" _Ah!_ " I cry out.

"Marry me, Danseuse," he grunts.

 _Shit, he's asking during sex this time._

 _This is so fucking hot right now._

Already, I feel my insides caving in.

"Answer me," he says, pushing even harder.

Even if I wanted to, I can't even form the words right now. At this moment, I'm facing the pitiful reality of lasting just two minutes. This is _so_ unlike me. Normally I can at least hold it for four or five before I completely fall apart. He didn't even kiss me down low this time, because it's late and Ari's just now falling asleep. Maybe that's why I'm not as steady at the moment.

Immediately, I come hard and he stills until my tsunami folds. Soon, I'm catching my breath and he starts to move again, but slowly. He kisses my temple.

"Marry me," he says again.

I sigh then smile, but I don't say a word.

Fifteen minutes later, we're completely naked and I am spent. He's stroking my hair and I'm right on the edge of falling asleep.

"Marry me, Ana," I hear him say again.

I moan. "Hmmm… _maybe_."

Suddenly, his body shifts, and he takes my face into his hands. I force my heavy eyelids open, and his gray eyes stare right through me. He then cracks a slow, lazy smile.

"I'm getting closer," he says in a deep voice.

When I laugh, his lips take mine and we kiss until sleep finally wins.

 _Blissful_ – I think just before dozing off.

 _And Ari hasn't even stirred once._

….

Mia was thrilled to stop by and watch Ari in her mother's place, while Christian and I set off to go on Charlie Tango for a quick trip to Portland. Back when our daughter turned four months, we began trying to get out there at least once a month to visit Zion and support Karen and Sasha House's flourishing business.

The vibe is completely different now than it was back when I worked there. Today, it's normal to see couples there all snuggled up. Also, the girls who work there all seem to be much happier. I've never seen them smile so brightly.

When Christian and I arrive, Sweetness waves excitedly at us from the bar as we're escorted by one of the new hostesses to our usual table. Along the way, we continue to greet more familiar faces, both employees and clientele.

 _"_ _Ana! Hey!"_

 _"_ _Mr. Grey! Ana!"_

When we reach our table, I tighten up the belt to my trench coat as Christian pulls out my chair. Once I'm seated, he lifts the chair over from the other side and places it right beside me before popping a squat. He then scoots his seat until our legs are touching. Shortly afterwards, Elaine comes by and hugs us both.

"Oh my – it's so good to see you! How's that sweet little girl of yours?"

"As sweet as ever," Christian beams.

I practically swoon at my guy's adoration for our baby girl. Who would've thought that this man would turn into goo at the hands of Aurora Frances Grey?

"I _so_ miss her face. I can't wait to see her again," she gushes. "The usual?" Christian and I smile and nod. "I have the room all set whenever you're ready," she says shortly before taking off.

Not long after Elaine leaves, Starla and Miranda show up separately. They also greet us with a hug and we briefly catch up before they set off to dance at some of the other couples' tables. Starla returns again to hug Christian and I one last time and promises to come to Seattle to visit with us soon.

Starla recently told me that she'll be forever grateful to Christian for finally convincing her to come forward about what Stefan Neumann did to her. I don't know what he said to her during their private talk on that fateful day, but whatever he said, she finally listened.

In an agreement between the U.S. and the German authorities, the asshole predator agreed to take a guilty plea in exchange for ten additional years in prison after he serves his ten for international business fraud. There wasn't much he could dispute anyway since the incident was recorded. _Thanks, Jay Dark._ Today, Starla's in the position to never have to work ever again. However, she credits the House girls for helping save her life, therefore she doesn't mind dancing for them on the weekends. Besides, like me, she still loves to dance.

But the difference between Starla and me is that I currently have a partner who won't allow me to dance with anyone else _but_ him. And because of that, I feel like I'm the luckiest girl in the entire world.

As Christian partakes in his scotch, I slip my whiskey sour through a straw. He wraps his arm around me and I practically sink into his chest. As he kisses me on the forehead, I can't help but think back to the first time that I waited these tables and spilled water right into his lap.

Who would've thought that my clumsiness would soon turn graceful and dancing would completely change my life. Now, I have this man who's toiled long and hard in order to change his own heart and finally let me in it. The feeling that I feel whenever I think about all that we've been through just to get here is indescribable.

When I look up at Christian, I see him cordially nodding at someone in the direction of the bar. He then looks down at me and smile.

"Sweetness?" I ask. He smirks and slowly shakes his head.

I ease up from Christian's shoulder and turn to the side to see Luke sitting alone at the bar. I gape in surprise and he nods and holds up his glass towards me. I quickly turn back at Christian.

"Wow," I gasp. "Becky never said that she was going to be…"

Christian raises a telling brow before the lights go down and a spotlight hits the stage. Quickly, the floor begins to hush as Karen House stands front and center.

"Coming to the stage is a treat. Everyone, please welcome…the one…the only… _Rebecca_."

I immediately jump up to my feet along with a few others and begin to hoot and holler. I'm so excited to finally be seeing one of my dearest friends doing what she loves again. In no time, Karen steps aside and Becky comes sliding on stage with a vengeance to the earth-shattering base of The Black Eyed Peas' _Boom Boom Pow_.

 _She's killing it, just like we rehearsed._

Christian doesn't know this, but sometimes while he's at work and Mrs. Jones is watching Ari, Becky and I escape to the gym and make up dance routines. We'll even occasionally _Skype_ Betsy for her guidance.

When Becky and I dance, we don't do it for anyone but ourselves. _Although_ , I must admit that there might've been a dance or two that eventually made its way into the bedroom for Christian's personal enjoyment.

Right now, one of our dances has made its way to a broader audience, and I can't be prouder of the girl that's showing it off. Becky absolutely nails it. Even though she's moved to Seattle, she also tries to make it back to Portland – but even more often than Christian and I do. For the past few months, she has been a featured dancer here every other weekend. I just had no idea that today would be one of those days. This was indeed a wonderful surprise.

The moment the song fades away, the deejay immediately puts on Fergie's _London Bridge_. Suddenly, girls in the building – all of the talent and some of the servers – begin to prance with attitude and line up in the two outermost aisles while Becky's still on stage. Without further ado, every girl starts to dance hard, mimicking Becky's moves in sharp syncopation. I howl out in excitement. Thoroughly amused by my liveliness, Christian chuckles and then pulls me further into him. He begins to speak into my ear.

"Sounds like they're playing your song, Miss Steele."

I laugh out loud before turning my head towards the bar to see a proud Luke Sawyer beaming at his wife while bobbing his head to the hard-hitting beat.

In the end, all of the girls receive a standing ovation, and many patrons are rushing towards the girls who are coming around to collect tips for the ensemble. Christian and I make sure to contribute. Before Becky leaves the stage, she blows a kiss at Luke and then waves excitedly at Christian and me. We wave right back.

Instead of taking our seats once again, Christian takes me by the hand, and we head towards Private Row. Once we arrive, we meet Shaun, and his giant frame leans down to embrace me. He then gives Christian his customary first bump, but this time, Shaun winks at him before opening the door that's just before the VIP room. I turn and gape at Christian before stepping in.

"This isn't our normal room."

Christian shrugs.

 _Wait a minute._

"Ana, I'm sorry," Shaun apologizes. "An appointment ran over. Once they're done, I promise, I'll knock and let you in through the adjoining door."

I nod in understanding.

"No worries. Thanks, Shaun," Christian says, and I'm totally floored. This _brand-new Christian Grey_ is taking me some time to get used to.

When Shaun closes the door and leaves us to it, I turn and unravel my trench coat, revealing a Gloria Basque nude, barely-there little number from Agent Provocateur. My nursing boobs are still swollen, and they're practically spilling over the cups even though I'm nearly seven pounds away from the pre-baby weight.

Meanwhile, Christian looks at me like a hungry man would look at a rare prime rib. When he reaches out to touch me, I immediately slap his wrists.

"No touching the dancers, Sir," I snippily remind him of the rules posted just outside the door.

He frowns. "But _this_ dancer is _mine_."

"Rules are rules. And besides, you'll have to wait until you get me to The Heathman before you can touch me," I sass.

He laughs.

I lead him over to the velvet sofa while wishing that we had the bigger room like usual. But soon the smaller size of the room is forgotten and I'm in my zone as I hit the play button. Rihanna's _Diamonds_ comes on, and I begin one of the routines I learned from Betsy just last month. Last time I saw her face to face, Aurora and I came to Portland for the day. While Betsy and I dance our hearts out in the garage, Josh and their sons happily entertained Ari. The boys go absolutely crazy every time I bring her to the house. I even asked Betsy if she ever thinks about either having _or_ adopting a little girl of her very own. She assured me that she's done with small children and will continue to fill that _little-girl-sized_ gap by babysitting Ari.

By the end of the dance, the no touching rule is tossed out the window. I'm now in Christian's lap and enveloped in his strong arms. He kisses me like I was lost and he just found me again. It's life-affirming.

"I love you so much, Anastasia Rose Steele."

"I love you, too," I breathe.

To my surprise, he lifts me out of his lap and stands before placing me back on solid ground. He takes me by the hand and then leads me across the room. I gape at him as he reaches for the adjoining door.

"What are you doing?" I say, gaping at him. "Shaun didn't knock."

He smirks at me and turns the knob anyway. When he opens the door to the VIP room, it's a beautiful and fragrant explosion. It's completely filled with flowers… ** _so_** many flowers. And balloons, a ton of them…with printed words. When I begin to read them, I discover that they are titles of songs.

 _Oh shit…these are titles of songs that I've danced to for him!_

 _Big Spender  
Buttons  
Dirty Diana  
Give It To Me Right  
Erotic City…_

They all had to have been danced to here at Private Row, because I don't see Aaliyah's _Rock the Boat_ …the song that I danced to for him in the cabin of _The Grace_ , Christian's boat, the other weekend. Nor do I see _Wicked Game_ by Chris Isaak or _Glory Box_ by Portishead – both songs that I've danced to in Christian's playroom.

Yes, believe it or not, the two of us are back in there. But it's only on **_our_** terms, not just his. Our relationship is now built on love and trust and _not_ power and intimidation. We go out every Saturday night…be it to a movie or to a theatre to see a play or an opera. We like to sit on top of the hill with the top down in Christian's R8 and watch the sunset while listening to classical music. And on Sunday's, we drive over with Ari to Bellevue to have dinner with her grandparents, aunt, and uncle.

Christian, me and our daughter are truly a family – there are no bones about. And _he_ is the perfect father. Oh…and he's not a bad boyfriend, either.

I continue to scan the song titles on the balloons and giggle the moment I see _Maneater_. Christian knows exactly which one I'm looking at.

"Couldn't forget that one," he says, deadpan. I crack up laughing. I then turn to gaze at all the flowers – roses, tulips, dahlias, lilies, peonies – and my mind flashes back to all of the good times that we've had in this very place. The good times definitely outweigh the bad. Granted, our time apart were the worse four months of my life, but we needed that to happen.

My mean tiger had to shed his skin in order to grow a brand-new shiny coat.

If I hadn't left for as long as I did, he probably would've done something to ruin us for good. He wouldn't've been ready to accept that I was pregnant. He wouldn't have been able to react the proper way.

You have to press some rocks in order to make a few diamonds…and that's exactly what we have. We are diamonds that shine together, lovingly and bright.

When I turn around from the flowers to look back at him, he's no longer standing there. I then catch a movement from the corner of my eye down below and my eyes fall.

And there he is, down on one knee holding a _diamond_ ring in a box.

I gasp, and he takes me by the hand.

"Anastasia Rose Steele… you've taken life as I once knew it and turned it up on its ass."

As I start to laugh, my impending tears don't even wait for him to finish.

"The very second I first laid eyes on you… Friday, September seventeenth at nine fifteen P.M…"

I gape at him. "You _remember_?" I squeak.

"Everyone should remember the exact moment when they encounter their destiny," he breathes.

My tears are now streaming down my face.

"Anyway," he resumes, "I knew when I first saw you that you belonged to me. I just didn't know how to possess you. So…I did the only thing I knew how to do at the time, but it wasn't the way to treat a queen. You are a queen, Anastasia; a goddess."

My head falls to the side, away from him.

"I had to learn how to cherish royalty. _It_ …it took some time," he stutters.

As soon as I hear the strain in his voice, my eyes find him again. He hasn't removed me from his line of vision. My heart stills.

"I was willing to do whatever it took to get my queen back. My goddess. My enchanting dancer. And when I finally found you, you were bearing _another_ gift. A gift that I was finally ready to receive."

A sob slips out of my throat and he squeezes my hand even harder.

"I hope that those are happy tears. God knows I've made you cry the other ones more than once."

I adamantly nod while biting my lips in a smile. He's instantly relieved.

"Good. Well, I've practiced this next line _many_ times in my head. I've also said it out loud to you – with no definite answer, might I add," he smirks. "So, I'm going to try this for hopefully the last time. I have your hand. I'm on bended knee. And I have your ring."

 _Oh my god.  
This is it. _

He takes a steady breath. "Anastasia Rose Steele, will you…"

" **YES**!" I shout from the mountain top.

It's cathartic.

He gapes at me.

"Can you repeat that?" he murmurs.

 _I know you just heard me scream out my answer like a lunatic.  
Quit playing games, Grey._

This time, I do nothing but smile at him in response with all teeth while nodding really hard. Without saying another word, he springs forward and then hoists me up in his arms. I start squealing. Without putting me down, he starts to dance, elated that I finally told him ' _yes'_.

A short time later, he and I are slow dancing to _The Time of My Life_ , an up-tempo song, while kissing and holding each other as we move together as one. This song absolutely best describes the way that he and I both feel about _us_.

 _He's certainly the one thing that I can't get enough of._

"Ana," he whispers, "I can't wait to dance with you forever. I love you _so_ much." His mouth suddenly takes mine before I can echo his heartfelt sentiment. But it doesn't stop me from thinking it.

 _And I love you more than pirouettes and sunsets, Mr. Grey._

 ** _The End._**

* * *

 ** _A/N: Faithful Readers – So, this is TRULY the end this time._** **:(**

 ** _To be honest, I really struggled with this epilogue. I wanted it to be absolutely perfect before putting it out there. A busy work and personal life certainly didn't help with timing. When that free time finally came, I found myself going back and forth with what I had written._**

 ** _However, I had to make up in my own mind that this update wasn't going to be like the others. I had to be okay with every single reader not connecting with how everything wraps up here. Overall, I understand the sentiment of certain reviewers who may think that this chapter as well as the last two or three seemed rushed. For the record, they weren't. Everything in this story, I had laid out months ago. From the very beginning I knew how long this story was going to be, and I anticipated writing a slow build-up and a fast-pace ending. I knew long ago just how I would end this story. I wasn't going to write 20 chapters of Christian moping around and seeking therapy until we see start to see his transformation. This story is called "A Private Dance" – it's both a physical and a spiritual dance between lovers, so I wanted to stay true to that._**

 ** _I also had to tell myself that this is an "epilogue". Epilogues are retrospectives. In essence, it's supposed to fill in some of the gaps as well as let the reader know how far the main characters have come, where they are now, and where they're headed. I hope I've accomplished that here._**

 ** _This chapter was all about finding out where Ana's thought process was when she decided to keep her pregnancy a secret from Christian. As we saw, she endured a ton of internalized emotions. Not only did she have to face her parents with the news, but she also felt the need to carry the burden of a dear friend._**

 ** _I thought about the readers who really don't care for Ana's point of view. I've started this story with Ana, and I wanted to end it with her. We already know how Christian feels, so we don't need to keep harping on that. I also wanted to show Christian's growth through Ana's eyes. We know how self-loathing he can be, but if Ana thinks he's the perfect father and boyfriend, that's all that should matter._**

 ** _Beyond this story, we see that there's plenty of room for outtakes, but I probably won't be writing them, at least for a good (long) while. So, for now, this story is complete. I have Taking Care of Business to finish, as well as the next story to write after that, which will probably be based on my short story, California Dreamin'._**

 ** _But first thing's first, I will be taking a well-deserved break from writing at least for a couple of weeks. There are so many books, as well as stories here on FF that I can't wait to indulge in._** **:D** ** _I'm sure I'll be asking you on Facebook what fanfics I need to be reading after I'm done with my current stack._** **:)**

 ** _I've never done outtakes, but it absolutely seems to fit well with a story like this one. For APD, there's no other major plot to conjure up. There may be a cute or complicated scenario here and there, which is great for a single chapter ditty in a collection of outtakes. Thanks for reading my rant. I'll spare you the rest of it, haha!_**

 ** _To all my faithful readers: Thank you sooooo much for taking this journey with me. Your support of this story is what kept me going. You're the best! – ST2_**

 ** _Dance Song Suggestion Shout Outs: Kudos to "Storie Tells All" Facebook group member Phillys J. for suggesting "The Time of My Life" by Bill Medley & Jennifer Warnes a while ago._**


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